The Parts that Break the Whole
by Ollen70
Summary: After the event that costs Folken his arm, the exprince of Fanelia begins the task of putting his life back together, but no one said it would be easy. Takes place before the beginning of the series and follows through to its end.
1. Bits and pieces

Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne. If you're surprised, then I'm very sorry for you.  
  
This is a brief story about Folken and what he must have gone through following the loss of his arm. Don't really know why I wrote it, except that I felt like it.   
  
  
  
  
The parts that make the whole  
  
  
  
How could anything ever be the same after that horrible day? In one moment, the world was broken. And in that moment, any other success was rendered frivolous in the shadow of that one greatest failure. Folken Fanel stood in the Emperor's palace, the greatest fortress in the newly reborn mechanical empire of Zaibach. The same technology that had advanced this kingdom and stripped it of any beauty it once possessed had spared his life, but ruined any chance he might have to call himself a member of the human race. Or a man.  
  
Raising a hand to his still-wet eyes, he did his best to disguise the anguish that threatened to devour him whole. General Adelphos was approaching, and it would be unseemly for him to be caught crying like a child, no matter the circumstances.  
  
Ah, Folken. The older man called to him from a distance, though Folken didn't right himself or turn from the balcony railing until he was certain his indiscretion wouldn't be noticed. You look terrible, my boy. The General said bluntly, putting a calloused hand to Folken's smoother, more youthful face. I suggest you get some rest. You're a member of a mighty nation now, young lad. It's through hard work that we grow strong. See that you don't forget that. The favor of the Emperor will only carry you so far. All of this was said in the style befitting Adelphos. Though Folken had only met him on one prior occasion, it had been enough for him to formulate the more-or-less correct opinion that Adelphos was a quintessential soldier, never one to mince words or engage in pointless small talk. This was more of a casual observation than anything. He nodded wordlessly and the man moved on, forgotten almost before he disappeared. His advice, though sound, was of little importance. What good was strength to him now, when it was the lack of strength that had brought him here in the first place?  
  
It did no good to dwell on the past, but he felt as though he had no other choice. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it...  
  
  
  
The sword in his grasp quavered just slightly. He couldn't help it. As often as he'd fenced with Balgous, nothing could compare to this. the dragon before him lowered its head, blood streaming from its eyes where Folken's blade had scored them. He had won! All that remained was to cut into the heart of the beast and remove its glowing essence, fulfilling all the rites of kingship. He approached all at once when the beast was finally still, sword reaching like an extension of his arm for the chest of the dragon. In just one more second...  
  
The dragon was on its feet before he knew what was happening. It wasn't dead. It was merely baiting him, waiting for him to make a stupid mistake. Even without its eyes, it bulled forth fearlessly, streams of fire roaring like the claws of hell toward him, incinerating his tunic and searing the flesh of his chest until it was red and raw. If he had been any closer to the lethal flame, he would be dead now. Berating himself for being all different kinds of an idiot, he raised his sword once more and charged in under the dragon's head. Hadn't Balgous warned him of the kinds of tricks these great beasts liked to play in battle? Hadn't he been prepared? Now, however, he gained the upper hand once more. He would do this correctly, then become king and lay down his sword forever. Death and battle were not things he took joy in. Still, something didn't feel quite right.   
  
Everything changed. All the forest shook with his screams as the jaws of the dragon snapped once, completing one final act of vengeance for its lost sight. It had been enough. While blood poured from his shoulder directly down his side, he screamed once more in blind panic. His arm was gone...it was GONE!! He didn't even notice that the dragon was no longer in the clearing. He was no threat to it any longer, so why should it have stayed?   
  
The reddening of the grass below him increased his terror. There was something he should do, but he couldn't think what. In one flash of teeth, he had lost his chance to be a king. He had lost his chance to be a man.  
  
  
  
What happened next was unknown to him. He knew what had transpired generally, of course, but the specifics had been blocked from his mind by the agony that filled every vestige within him. If anything, the terror grew when he regained consciousness. Lying in a silent room with tubes carrying his own blood running from all parts of his body - and then, he noticed that...thing... where his arm should have been. No, it wasn't real. it couldn't have been. Any moment now he would wake up and go out to slay the dragon. This was just a nightmare, brought on by his anxiety. Van would come in and leap on his chest like he did every morning. Any moment now.  
  
Only it never happened. The sorcerers of Zaibach had come and explained to him the wonders of their machines and the glory of his rebirth. He was more than a man now, they told him. He had purpose. He was part of the greater whole, an instrument in the new vision of the future. Folken Fanel, they said, died that day. All the weakness within him was gone with the severing of his limb and the reattachment of something much greater.  
  
  
  
Three months later, he was still waiting to wake up. The metal arm was a hateful reminder of what was lost, nothing more than that. His soul, once gentle and kind, was beginning to harden. The loss of his arm had stripped away most of his delusions about the state of things. He was not more of a man, as they had promised. He was nothing. He was a mistake that might never be made right. Even in spite of this, he was not without some tincture of honor. He knew what was owed. He would not live his life indebted to anyone. He knew now that the past was dead. And what of it still lived, he would soon kill himself.   
  
  
  
Ollen70: Like I said, a short and relatively depressing little story that just came to me  
all at once. I might rewrite it at some point and add some things. Let me know what you think, okay?  



	2. The liar

  
Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.   
  
  
Ollen70: I'd meant for this story to be a one-shot and nothing more, but it's evolved a little more than I'd intended. If I get away from the plot (If there is one) and end up just being depressing, then blame it on my frame of mind at the moment. It hasn't been an excellent week.   
  
I know most people get angry when writers introduce original characters, but since ten years of Folken's life are more or less blank, I had to invent some things along the way. I don't create Mary sues, and I've done my best to keep the established characters intact. If you think anybody's out of character, let me know.  
  
Chapter Two - -The Liar  
  
Days, weeks, months...they all passed like the snows that fell over the darkened streets of Zaibach. The winters here were savage and desolate. Unlike in Fanelia, the snow and ice brought no beauty to the already-frigid cities, causing the palaces and hangars to look, if possible, even more menacing than before. The new floating fortresses were grounded by the severity of the storms, embedding themselves into the frozen earth like mountains of sheer doom.  
  
Of course, for some nations, they would indeed become instruments of doom and little else. Such fortresses were built so painstakingly for one reason and one reason only - conquest. No one in Zaibach had any illusions to the contrary. Zaibach was made great by war. It was the impressive military prowess of the High Emperor Dornkirk that had so advanced the nation and them that dwelt in it, bringing the nation from obscurity in a matter of years.  
  
All of these thoughts were, as usual, inconsequential to Folken as he stood on a balcony once again, heedless of the lashing gales and snow. No idea could move him. No desire, or hope, or fear had any real effect on him now. The Generals had pressured him for weeks to make something of himself for the good of the empire, and none were as gentle with him as Adelphos had been. The man who called himself the Platinum General had twice taken him into the Vione, the massive floating fortress, for two attacks on the nation southwest of Zaibach. He'd heard the name of it several times, but had no will to remember it.   
  
Still no sleep, my child? Folken started inwardly at the voice. Velvet like the darkness, it wrapped around him like the arm of the speaker, drawing him close. He didn't fight back, like he had the first time she had approached him. He was more used to her by now. Delleva, the cat-woman, appeared fluidly from the corridor behind him, turning his face to hers with a gloved hand. Her kiss was gentle, but possessive rather than kindly passionate.   
  
How often have we told you to rest? What is it about the darkness that intrigues you so, dear boy? She slipped around him and embraced him more firmly. He knew that resisting her was pointless, and her touch was somewhat comforting. He never fooled himself into believing that she had any real affection for him, but the companionship of another, real or otherwise, was grudgingly welcomed over the constant solitude he forced upon himself. Besides, no matter where he went, she found him. Being part cat, he should have assumed her tracking abilities were superb.  
  
So, my child, if you will not sleep, what shall I do with you? The Emperor is not pleased, not pleased at all. He found he had no inclination to ask what she was referring to. Emperor Dornkirk was becoming increasingly upset with Folken's reluctance to stand fast with Zaibach. the more time he spent alone, the more wrath he incurred later on. Of course, it was of little concern to him what Dornkirk thought. After all, he didn't ask to be saved. He owed the empire nothing - less than nothing, in fact. He would have preferred to die, instead of lingering now for God only knew how long until the technology he was imbued with finally broke down.   
  
That isn't my problem. He replied, his voice frigid through practice. He broke away from her, turning back toward the window and the night.  
  
Oh, but it will be. Even you have more sense than to toy with a man who holds so much sway over you.  
  
Dornkirk doesn't own me. I do as I wish.  
  
Believe that if it makes you feel better. She taunted, pulling him close again and running her tongue slowly down his neck. You can't fool me, as hard as you try. I understand you, and you hate it.  
  
Go away. He said finally, wanting to be anywhere other than here.   
  
I don't believe I will. This world you remember...It's dead now. Zaibach is all that you can have out of life. Why not embrace it? Why not embrace us? She kissed him, her claws unmasked and digging into his living shoulder when he tried to free himself once more. His cry of pain was lost inside of her, giving her an opportunity to deepen the kiss. This exchange was not an uncommon representation of the relationship between the two of them. They always struggled, and he always resisted initially, but lost. He hated himself for it, but his resolve was beginning to weaken more every day. Most of what she'd told him was true, after a fashion, and lying to himself was never something he had been good at.  
  
What hope can you have for tomorrow if you are so afraid to use today? she murmured quietly, her face still centimeters from his own. And then she was gone. Wiping the pearls of blood from his shoulder, Folken looked back at the snow. She would come again, as she always did, and leave him weaker, as she always did.  
  
Delleva's purpose in the Zaibach empire was unknown to him, and intuition told him that it wouldn't be wise to ask. Most demi-humans were not treated well in all parts of the world, so he often found himself wondering how she could have risen to such an important place in the empire. Her air was much different than that of any of the cat kind he had met before. In Fanelia, where the division between human and demi-human wasn't so stark, there were a great many of the half-cats and other half races. In fact, Folken's best friend for many years had been Onru, the brother of Van's companion, Merle. Where Onru might be now, he didn't care to speculate. In all likelihood, his old friend had a family of his own and had forgotten Folken completely. In many ways, he supposed it was for the best - it was always better to be forgotten than to be hatefully remembered.  
  
Walking down the abandoned hallways, he took his time dwelling in deep thoughtlessness. All the turns of the metal corridors were far too similar, holding no distinguishing marks to endear any particular part into the memory of the traveler. He felt at home in the bleakness, and it troubled him more than anything Delleva might say.  
  
  
Ollen70: Who knows where I'm going with this? I don't, that's for sure. Thanks for reading this far, and I'll update when I figure out what I was thinking when I wrote this in the first place. Any suggestions? They're very, very welcome right about now.  
  
  
  
  



	3. Never light nor peace

Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.   
  
  
Ollen70: If you're familiar with the old saying The night is darkest before the dawn, then you can apply it to these next few chapters. They get pretty heavy, and, for those of you who don't know, Folken story doesn't exactly have a happy ending. So let's just forget that part about the dawn, okay? I'd also like to say thank you' to Myst Lady for her suggestions and reviews so far. Inspiration has been hard to come by, so I really appreciate her opinions. And that goes for anybody who feels like reviewing. It's always great to get feedback.  
  
  
Chapter Three - - Never Light Nor Peace  
  
  
Retiring to his room, Folken gazed at the sparse furnishings again, inwardly repulsed. Though no stranger to hardship, this mean little hole could never compare with the large, airy room he used to occupy in Fanelia. The memories of his old home were still painful in a way. He wasn't truly homesick any longer, but to think that he could never under any circumstances return home...  
  
The first few days after his arrival in Zaibach, he believed that he could. Even with only one arm, his mother and father would certainly still love him.   
  
For a bright lad, you certainly can be slow. Delleva told him during their first meeting. The dragon defeated you - it almost killed you, in fact. To the people of Fanelia, you are dead, and always will be. They will never welcome you again, now that you failed the rites of kingship. Why not stay here, where you belong?   
  
She was partly right. He was broken now, without honor or dignity. With a deep sigh that bore all the burdens of regret, he discarded his rust-colored tunic and black trousers, pulling a threadbare blanket around himself against the chill. The room held only three things; a low, metal bed frame with a mattress only barely large enough for him, a metal end table, and a large samovar-type heating device that ran when it felt like it, causing the temperature to range from freezing, as it was most of the time, to downright sweltering.   
  
Tonight, it was colder than usual. Dornkirk probably told the engineers to shut off his heat until he decided to cooperate more fully. The old man had moved him to these wretched quarters when Folken had refused to become a part of the Imperial army. The miserable old man had sought to force Folken's hand more than once, attempting to explain the glory and the forthrightness of his plans for Gaea, once his righteous war was at a close. The man was a visionary in his own right, and Folken had no choice but to admit that - but he wanted no part of the death and bloodshed it would take to make the Emperor's dream a reality.   
  
Shaking lightly in spite of himself, he sank to the mattress, ignoring the loose springs that stuck through the fabric and groaned under his weight. The lighted lamps on the end table, sputtering from a lack of oil, finally went out on their own, stirred to their demise by the wind that found its way through the gaps in the window. The insufficiency of this chamber didn't thaw him, really. His first room in Zaibach, up a few stories, was only slightly better. From what little he had seen of it, Folken assumed the wealth of Zaibach was not evenly spread among all people, if such places existed even in the palace and fortress of Emperor Dornkirk. But then, the pride of Zaibach was in its technology, not in the comfort of its halls.   
  
No sunlight stirred Folken the next morning. The wrath of the winter was so great that the sky was often as dark as night at all times, adding an even more ominous quality to the fortress. When he finally woke, sweating from the blasts of heat the samovar put out spitefully, he made his way to the washrooms, clothing himself in no serious hurry. This would be a day, like all of the others. Nothing changed here for him, and even when it did, nothing meant anything anymore. The days were only distinguishable if he stopped to focus on a particular thought he may have had, or a sensation that stood out from the gray stain that was time.   
  
The only break in the sheer monotony of it all was when he found his way into the machine labs late at night, after the engineers were gone. He found he could spend hours toying with the left over parts of guymelefs and other random technology, creating devices that held no purpose other than his own amusement. He was always careful to dismantle or hide whatever he'd created, for fear of the engineers discovering that someone had been using their parts and energists for unauthorized experiments. If a little caution was all it took, he was happy to make the sacrifice. He hadn't realized how much wonder and excitement he could feel when his farfetched ideas became moving, functioning machines. They were his creations, friendly to him and him alone.   
  
Delleva was waiting for him in his chamber when he returned one night. The cat woman watched him for a long moment, expectantly, but he said nothing to her. It wasn't until he blew out the lanterns and pulled the blanket around him that she spoke, more hostile now.  
  
You don't understand, do you? She came right up to his ear, speaking softly while moving onto the mattress, lest he try to roll away from her. You trifle with Zaibach like you have power here. All you are is a cripple without a home or a family, and yet you scorn every gift the generals and the Emperor offer you. Why? Cling to your morals with dirty hands if you think it becomes you, but you'll give in. If you don't, then prepare to be left behind. He waited for her to be done with her lecture and leave, however the red-haired woman apparently had no such intention.   
  
I'm not like you. I won't just give in because it's convenient. I won't fight a pointless war for a goal that doesn't even make sense.   
  
Late or soon, you will. No one can hold out forever, especially not here. Everyone gives in, and I'm sorry to say that you will not be an exception. It's just a matter of time. He never remembered her leaving the room that night. He never knew if she stayed or not, but it didn't exactly matter. In the morning he woke alone.  
  
  
Ollen70: Things are picking up. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but if I'm lucky, I'll have another chapter posted by the end of the week. Besides, the upcoming events are better when they stand alone. I get the feeling this is going to be pretty long when it's finally finished - probably about ten chapters or so. Anyway, thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcome.  
  
  
  
  



	4. Cowardice in disguise

Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, the Iron general, the Platinum general, Zongi, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.   
  
Ollen70: This is the longest, most complicated chapter of the story, proving me wrong when I said that the whole thing would be short and one-shot. Well, I guess that obviously isn't the case any more.   
  
  
  
Chapter Four - - Cowardice in Disguise  
  
  
The generals came to him almost every day, and his response was always the same. He had no interest in becoming a pawn of Zaibach, so he waited patiently while part of Delleva's prediction came true. Nearly a fortnight later, he found his quarters had been changed again. It seemed he had finally upset Dornkirk one time too many - his old quarters, though cramped and unpleasant, had at least been private. Now, he found himself in the reeking, overcrowded guild of the peasants and beast people in the lowest level of the fortress. His only belongings, other than the clothes on his back, were a pile of tattered blankets he wrapped himself in at night, his corner of the gallery resembling a run down nest more than any kind of living space. He was aware that his exile here was intended as a punishment to force him into accepting the Emperor's offers, but he didn't mind as much as Dornkirk might have liked. He never had time to feel lonely now, and other than being treated a little roughly by some of the local boys, he was largely left to his own devices. Part of him cynically admitted that if he were to come across a young man that was only partly real, he might keep his distance as well.  
  
The commons was an interesting place. More interesting, at least, than the cold and more or less sterile halls in the upper reaches of the fortress. The chamber was massive - so vast, in fact, that even empty a person could barely see from one side of it to the other. Massive pillars of solid metal several meters thick supported the weight of the fortress above, reaching high into air before giving way to deep vaults. The beast people had the run of it. It was they who manned the many market stalls or the various rooms built into the sides of the chamber. Though there were some humans, they tended to live either as soldiers or in the other buildings like this one in different parts of the empire.  
  
Beast people and the other demi-races, Folken soon realized, were kept here as much for their unique skills as to keep them isolated. The gecko races were excellent assassins; the wolf and dog races were fierce fighters when roused, often recruited as melee fighters; The cat people were trackers, as Delleva consistently proved, but many of them also seemed to have a natural affinity for piloting guymelefs. The other, most elusive race was that of the doppleganger, often called the deceptant tribe. Folken had heard tales of them often as a child - that they could take the body of any person they chose, or fade from view entirely if they found it necessary to do so. If they were actually a race, Folken didn't know. There were only two of the tall, gray creatures in all of Zaibach. Folken himself had seen one of them once, but it had taken him more than a moment, staring at it's strange red-streaked face to realize what it was he was looking at.  
  
With the generals ignoring him, Folken found that his time was now fully his own. As much as possible, he spent the days working on random collections of gears or others parts he'd been able to take quietly from the labs. A great many of the Zaibach guymelefs stored in them had been dismantled lately, and though Folken didn't know why, the parts lying unprotected and largely unaccounted for were too tempting to pass up. He was always careful with what he took, making sure the labs were empty and that the pieces he chose were generic. Even if someone noticed the missing parts, Folken was quite confident that they would never be able to trace them back to him.   
  
Folken noticed with little interest that the number of soldiers in and around the fortress was smaller than he had ever seen, and that the floating fortresses, usually harbored nearby, were gone from the city. This was strange, as it was mid-winter and the snows were falling more heavily than most could remember. Why the entire fleet would be called into duty during such conditions, Folken couldn't say. Whatever the reason was, it gave him far more liberty, and that was all that mattered to him.  
  
Fortunately for Folken, eviction from his quarters didn't mean total banishment from the rest of the fortress. He was still allowed to wander the halls when he felt like it, and the kitchen workers fed him if he asked them to. Since he had no money and nothing to barter, purchasing anything in the market wasn't a possibility. On one such occasion, he returned with half of a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in his hands, hoping to find some place to store it where others wouldn't take it from him. Having already eaten his fill, he wasn't as interested in the provisions as he normally might have been. A figure in the dim light sat against the wall at the base of the staircase, eyes open. It moved not even a little, though it's chest moved reluctantly with shallow breath. It's ribs were rather painfully visible under grayish skin. It wasn't emaciated, but Folken began to wonder how long it must have been since it had eaten. Almost unthinking, he lay the loaf and cheese at the creature's side and went about his business.   
  
As time wore on, the only time he ventured into the upper reaches of the fortress was because hunger drove him there. The soldiers would cast him contemptuous glances in the corridors, obviously having heard the many rumors about him that flowed like water through the empire. Having no mind to endure open hostility, he avoided the corridors altogether whenever possible.  
  
The preoccupation around the empire and the disembarkation of the fleet were not explained to him. Indeed, even more of the imperial armies were sent out, leaving only a skeleton force in Zaibach or the fortress. Folken could now easily walk into the machine labs, even in the middle of the day, without fear of being caught. Most of the guymelefs had been dispatched over the last month, which cut down his supply of spare parts to tinker with. This didn't trouble him much, as he had collected all he needed beforehand, and was in the middle of one particular experiment that seemed promising.  
  
He knew that even if he were discovered, he probably wouldn't be severely punished. This knowledge didn't reassure him. There was a very dark, brooding presence in the lab whenever Folken entered the labs and set to work. At first he was willing to brush it off as his imagination and nothing more, until he started to feel it in other parts of the fortress as well. It was as if he was constantly being watched, but it was more than that. He knew Dornkirk probably knew exactly where he was and what he was doing at any given moment, yet this was something different entirely. The presence he felt was not as safe as a guard or a spy that he couldn't see. It was a colder feeling - something dangerous, even.   
  
  
  
Less than a week later, the Iron general and the men under his command broke through the clouds, their guymelefs and fortresses as numerous in the air as the crystalline snowflakes. It was this force alone that returned to make repairs, filling the palace once again with men in armor. The Iron general was the one man Folken hated more than any other, and so the morning he had spotted the fortresses in the sky and recognized them, he liberated as many of his inventions from the machine lab as he could. With the Iron general's eyes open for him, he couldn't risk being spotted in the labs. The general was the man who had delivered the news to Folken that he was to sleep in the commons, and Folken's ribs still smarted at the memory of that particular encounter.  
  
His distress at the arrival of the general was compounded only by the fact that while the man was here, Folken was almost entirely cut off from his supply of parts. more than once he was tempted to risk it, especially when Delleva paid him a very unexpected visit one evening.  
  
A foot connected with his ribs twice. He didn't open his eyes until another, much harder kick brought him upright, brushing his hair back and glowering at the cat woman.   
  
My, how the mighty have fallen. She smirked, looking disdainfully at the pile of tattered cloth he'd surrounded himself with.   
  
What are you doing here? He was in even less of a mood to deal with her now than he ever was. The arrival of the new force was unnerving enough without the added tension Delleva inexorably brought with her wherever she surfaced.  
  
Be careful how you address me, boy. She got down very close to him, her nose almost touching his. I have information that might interest you, and it would be a shame if I had to leave before you heard it.  
  
Nothing you have to say ever interests me. He snapped. That said, he sunk back into the blankets and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the pleasant dream she'd ruptured upon her arrival. The back of her hand across his face brought him upright again, eyes blazing.  
  
Don't you ever learn? Her expression was not at all friendly. I shouldn't even be telling you this, but there's something in the largest lab upstairs that might entice you enough to be a bit more civil. She slapped him again for what must have been good measure, watching him carefully. He bit his lip, but didn't move to react. Nodding at this, she continued.  
  
The third fleet came back for a definite reason. Seems they found something fairly incredible in the ruins to the north, something no one expected. Dornkirk was furious at first. you should have seen him, ranting and swearing like a daemon. He said they should have sent one fortress, instead of drawing so much attention with the whole damned fleet like that.  
  
What did they bring? He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
Some type of metal.   
  
Folken couldn't keep the disappointment entirely out of his face. That's all?  
  
No. Well, yes, but no. She replied quickly. It isn't just a metal. It's like quicksilver, except that it isn't always liquid. Or solid. Or... well, anything, really. One of the sorcerers thinks it might be alive, but they can't really say. I thought you might want a look, or a sample of it. After all the time you've been spending in the machine labs...  
  
How do you know about that? He shot out quickly, his voice low. She wrinkled her nose at him.  
  
Everyone on this level knows. The reek of oil on you is even stronger than the smells that usually abound down here. Maybe you should bathe more often. She smiled facetiously. Go to the Emperor. Tell him you want to become a part of Zaibach. He'll let you see the metal. Maybe in time, he'll even let you experiment with it, though I really don't understand why that sort of thing excites you so deeply...  
  
He thanked her and told her, incredibly, that he would consider it, noting the look of utter shock on her face when he did so. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't do that unless there was really no other choice. Besides, there were other ways of satisfying his inquisitive nature than by becoming Dornkirk's lap dog.  
  
As soon as the main of the torches in the commons went out for the night, Folken rose and made for the upper levels. He encountered no one until the lab doors came into view. This particular lab was not one that he passed often, since it belonged almost exclusively to the sorcerers of Zaibach. In fact, in all likelihood, it was within that room that Folken's reconstruction had taken place. The walls might still remember his screams of horror at the sight of the terrible new limb.   
  
By doubling around through the empty hallway to the north, he managed to find a heating duct that led up above the lab. His metal arm allowed him to pry off the grate, and by placing a foot on either wall and using his weight as a counter-balance, he was able to scale the shaft with little difficulty. Waiting for a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness before he began feeling his way along the shaft. For all he knew, there might be other descending shafts or areas that dropped off along the way.   
  
His effort was essentially rendered useless. Arriving at the only shaft that looked down into the chamber, he saw only twisting shadows, obscured by a great many mechanical devices that he couldn't even begin to fathom the uses of. The grill was such that even if the light had been brighter, he would have seen only a little more. Defeated, he turned to begin his descent when he felt that familiar twinge run the length of his spine. The confines of the shaft held a figuratively colder presence, though the air was stifling. The prickle didn't leave him until he was out of the duct and back downstairs in his nest once more.  
  
Folken woke more reluctantly than usual the next morning. Generally, the draft or the noise around him was always enough to stir him long before he would have liked. In Fanelia, he prided himself on rising notoriously late, and it seemed those days were far behind him indeed. He considered himself lazy if he slept through the dawn anymore, though it was hard to tell when the sun was over the horizon with the gravity of the winter as powerful as it was. For once, he was not at all cold. Quite the contrary, in fact. Someone had covered him generously in a heavy blanket of thick cotton. Certainly it was not particularly fine or of expensive quality, but compared to what he was used to, it was greatly appreciated.   
  
The greatest surprise of his day came when Folken finally built up enough nerve to take the stolen parts from their hiding place. He'd put them in the wall, behind a metal panel that wasn't totally secured. Whether or not it was stable wasn't an issue - his excursion at the vent taught him that opening something made of solid metal wasn't much of a problem anymore, but he didn't want to bring attention to himself by tearing a section of the wall free.  
  
Once he'd opened the panel, he sorted through the objects hurriedly. there were a great deal more here than what he'd had before, most of them containing energists or other very hard to obtain components. Even more surprising was a little jar of silver liquid that reminded him of mercury. Hardly daring to believe what he held, he made his way into the most secluded corner of the fortress. Using a piece of scrap parchment he'd rescued from one of the many braziers the demi-humans and peasants kept for warmth, he recorded as many observations as he could. Having no equipment save for the broken parts, he could perform only rudimentary experiments that taught him little of value, except that the metal was a remarkable discovery. He fervently wished he could study it more, because that sort of thing had always fascinated him as a child. Though he wasn't particularly adept with a sword, he often spent hours watching the samurai of Fanelia battle in and then repair their guymelefs. Initially, the most distressing factor of losing his arm was that he might never be able to pilot a guymelef himself.  
  
He continued scribbling at the piece of parchment until well into the night, storing the jar and finally replacing the metal panel when he thought it would be safe. Until now, he hadn't really stopped to think about where the metal might have come from. He initially had figured that Delleva must have brought it, but she wouldn't have been strong enough to force open the panel. Besides, he slept in a place where he could see that part of the wall, and he hadn't noticed her around at all today. Feeling slightly disconcerted, he rolled over and did his best to get to sleep.   
  
  
  
The next morning he made his way to the panel again, hoping to continue his observations even though he knew that he had learned all that he could with his current methods. Wrenching open the hiding place, he stifled a gasp. The jar was no where to be found.  
  
A commotion in the center of the commons caught his attention. He headed casually in that direction, noticing the Iron general and a long, gray creature in chains at his feet. pushing through the crowd, he stood before the armored man defiantly, legs slightly apart and head thrown back.  
  
What's going on here?  
  
This creature was found in the chamber of the Sorcerers. He's been sentenced to fifty lashes. The creature at the general's feet was already so battered that his face seemed to be nothing more than one clotted bruise, still dripping red in places. As battered as the creature was, the beating he had sustained would have been more than enough to end the life of many others. Folken doubted if he personally could have survived through such blatant brutality. Still, the creature looked him in the eyes with a disturbing flatness, not turning away.  
  
You'll kill him! Folken cried, his anger getting the better of his judgment. You know that as well as I!  
  
Death waits at the close of every life. The general's voice was flat, his whip uncurling cruelly. That's something a whelp like you would do well to learn. None of this is your business, boy. If this mongrel dies, then it was meant to be. He knows our laws, and I have orders to follow. The punishment must be administered.  
  
Folken wasn't sure why he did it, or even why he cared, but he pulled off his tunic and flung it at the general's chest. I'll take his place. He had expected the general to make some sort of reaction to this, but none was forthcoming. Even the cold expression on the man's face never altered, not even so much as a flicker.  
  
Then prepare yourself. Words aside, there was nothing Folken could have done to brace his body against the blinding agony delivered to him so intimately by the whip. Again and again the streamers fell on his pale skin, the small pieces of iron fixed into the cords clattering against his metallic arm when the man was careless with his aim. Folken's mind could no longer differentiate between the strokes, only dimly noticing through his sobbing breaths when the general, and indeed every other creature in the square, had finally gone. Well, perhaps not everyone.  
  
That gray-skinned wretch was still at his side, his eyes slightly hooded. Folken wanted to scream at him to get out of his sight and leave him with his pain, but his tongue was too thick and heavy to control. Only those ragged, half-sobs came when he attempted speech. the creature's arms came around him, causing him to cry out when they connected with the swollen, bleeding flesh of his back. The doppleganger didn't relent until he had lifted Folken from the bloodied floor effortlessly, even in spite of Folken's greater size and weight. Trembling and shaking uncontrollably, Folken let the doppleganger bear him where he chose.  
  
  
  
  
Ollen70: I know this chapter moves faster than I would have liked. I might go back and rewrite parts of it later on. I apologize if the information about Zongi isn't totally accurate. I've actually only seen up to episode twelve of the dubbed series. All the rest of the information I have is from summaries, and it just isn't the same.   
  
Anyway, I hope you've enjoy it, and I want to say thanks again to you who reviewed. It's always really great to see a review alert' e-mail in my inbox. I owe a big thank you' to Atari, Esther, and Myst Lady.   
  
Also, if you're looking for other very well written Escaflowne stories, check out the fics by Atari. A Piece of Fragile Beauty' is the only one I've had a chance to read so far, but it's excellent.   
  
Thanks for reading all of this. I hope to have another chapter up in, oh, three days or so.  
  
  



	5. I am born again

  
Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, the Iron general, the Platinum general, Zongi, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.   
  
Ollen70: Yeah, I borrowed the title from a song lyric, but it really seems to fit the overall content of this chapter.   
  
  
Chapter Five - - I am Born Again  
  
  
  
  
Like the light from a single star, only one tiny facet existed in his sight. For a while, he thought he truly was watching the birth of the starlight on a clear night, as the points became more and more abundant. They filled his entire field of vision, blurring and changing to become the inside of a chamber that most certainly wasn't one he had been in before. As fine as the furnishings around him were, in many ways he was disappointed. The sky was still heavy and deep gray, glowering through the red velvet curtains at him like some robber in the night.   
  
The sharp scent of metal that never really went away told him that behind the rich tapestries and under the dark wooden furniture, the walls were the same as those in his old rooms - he was still in Zaibach, not dead as he had immediately assumed. That too was disappointing. Death would have been an appropriate conclusion. But then, the greater forces of the universe weren't ready to end his tormented existence yet. If the loss of all grace and birthright when his arm was taken couldn't bring about his demise, a whip and a cruel nature certainly wouldn't. Once more, his strength proved to be too great to give him leave from the torment of life, yet too feeble to allow him to protect himself from the beginning.   
  
Settling down among the soft white sheets, it occurred to him that something was very wrong with all of this. He shouldn't be here. He should be bleeding hopelessly in the corner of the commons that he had by now grown accustomed to. It didn't really matter to him now. If he was in trouble, which was likely, he was in far enough that nothing he did now would make a large difference. Resigned to his fate, he rolled over onto his chest. The pain in his back, which he hadn't been fully aware of before now, alleviated very suddenly, making the vast stretches of the bed seem infinitely more inviting.  
  
  
  
Wake up. How long do you think you can lie there anyway? Come on boy, wake up! Folken heard the voice somewhere through the fog that surrounded his mind, but deemed it safe enough to ignore it. Hearing voices was never a good sign. Perhaps more rest might remedy the problem...  
  
His own cry brought him out of a dead sleep as he thrashed frantically, desperate to alleviate the pain that roared from...everywhere. It was gone in a moment and he rolled onto one side, careful of his back, to look up into the eyes of Delleva.   
  
If you'd woke sooner, I wouldn't have had to slap you. She wore her familiar smug smile, her hands marked where his wounds had broken open again under her touch. A brown glass bottle and a white cloth were in her hands. Here, roll over again. She commanded. The sooner you're cleaned, the better you'll feel. Though it wasn't wise of you to get yourself into that situation anyway. Sometimes I wonder just how bright you really are.  
  
Where am I? He asked while he complied. is this your room? She laughed at this.  
  
This shamble? No, my holdings are far fairer than this. This is your new room, given to you by Dornkirk. As soon as you can stand on your own, you'll go to see him. Why he puts so much time and faith into you, I'll honestly never know. She steadied him with one hand, and out of simple reflex he felt his teeth clench.   
  
The liquid she poured across his shoulders and back was hard in his nostrils. Though there was no pain, he stifled a cry at the sensation it brought out of him. Craning his neck and wincing at the effort, he watched the clear liquid as a white mist began to form in it, turning it cloudy in the furrows left by the whip. Delleva kissed the real shoulder tenderly, more kind now than he could ever recall. He didn't want her touch. Not like this, at least. Not when it was so laced with pity it nearly made him sick to think about it. If he had been feeling tolerant, he would have appreciated the compassion she treated him with just now, but the events of the previous day, if that was when it had taken place - he didn't care to guess how long he might have been lying in this bed lifelessly.   
  
A cursory glance to his right caused him to jump, knocking the bottle in Delleva's hand askew. He didn't even notice as more of the liquid spilled down on him. All of his attention was fixed on the gray creature standing in the shadows with its yellow-green eyes on his face, unblinking and unnerving.  
  
I see you've met Zongi. Delleva put in, wiping at the liquid that was running down his sides onto the sheets. If he hadn't brought you here, you wouldn't be in as good a condition as you are. She chuckled at the cross expression he bore. If this was good condition,' he shuddered at what bad' might have been.  
  
When he was appropriately cleaned and bandaged, Delleva left him. Zongi, on the other hand, stayed where he was, never moving or speaking. At first, Folken was incredibly unsettled by the doppleganger's presence, but in time he was almost comforted by the staid demeanor of the creature.  
  
Sleep was hard for him to come by. Part of this was obviously because of the restrictions on how far he could move and the overwhelming pain when he made   
certain gestures or flexed the wrong muscles. He assumed the rest had to do with how long he had been drifting in and out of consciousness redundantly. The splitting headache that troubled him now, accompanied by an ever-present draft kept his eyes from closing or the blessed gift of sleep from visiting him again. He realized that it was likely he was suffering from fever, brought on by the injuries. As the day bore on, he shook so badly from cold despite the sheen of sweat on his chest. It was then that Zongi stood idle no more.  
  
Folken felt the warmth of another body beside his own, felt reassurance flow from the heavy scents of dark earth, herbs, and rain. It felt odd to be so close to another male, even if gender was almost impossible to discern from a doppleganger. He was sure Zongi never meant to make him uncomfortable, and was merely keeping him warm. Though Zongi's gesture was comforting and not a little touching, he found himself wishing it was Delleva who lay at his side, as she had done that night that felt so very long past. Even with the warmth provided him, sleep did not come as it usually did. Confusion greeted him first, followed by a haze of nothingness that never became as deep as he would have liked it to.  
  
  
  
It's time to go, lad. The Lady Delleva tells us you're well enough for an imperial audience, and the Emperor grows impatient. The Platinum general stood at the foot of his bed. Zongi rose from his place on the fringes of the room, but didn't draw nearer. After two days had passed since Delleva had cleaned and bandaged him, he found that it was easier to move through daily life as if he were back to normal again. He glanced at the metal arm ruefully and admonished himself for using the word normal.' His life was farther from normal now than he ever would have assumed it could be. The doppleganger in the corner, the Zaibach general before him, and the wolf man who just happened to look in the chamber at that moment deftly confirmed this.  
  
When he was clothed - only in a pair of trimmed leather trousers and a very loose tunic, the general led him into the highest reaches of the palace. His bare feet padded on the cold, metallic floor quickly. Somehow during his injury and recovery, his leather boots had been misplaced, though Folken noticed that one of the room servants in the hallway closest to his quarters wore a pair that looked strikingly similar.  
  
Upward they went, using the mechanical lifts that were unique to Zaibach. Folken wasn't aware that they had stopped, too preoccupied with the view to notice anything else. One large, arched window gave those who'd ridden the lift to that story the benefit of overlooking the kingdom of Zaibach. In many ways, it was not a beautiful place. The pinnacles below him were yielded from the earth like teeth wrought of iron rather than as homes for men and women. All was blanketed in the pride of winter, which shone blue rather than strictly white under the black clouds above. As always, the anchored floating fortresses were easy to see in the distance, even through the rising mist.  
  
Nature and technology in one spectacle.' Folken mused. Much like my body.'  
  
Folken had been in Dornkirk's hall only once, but it wasn't likely he could ever forget it, even if he spent the rest of his life trying. The room didn't seem exceptionally large at first, due to all of the devices and machines that literally filled every corner.   
  
  
  
The last time he was in Dornkirk's presence, he hadn't been allowed to come close to him, kept in the center of the chamber under a beam of steady light. Now, as he approached the monarch, he saw that Dornkirk was actually built into his throne. Tubes fed into the old man's arms that reminded Folken painfully of the time he spent recovering in the lair of the sorcerers. A massive creation loosely resembling a telescope, was suspended on a maze of pipes and metal scaffolding directly over him. His beard and hair were both long and white, curled in places, Folken assumed, to give him a more sophisticated appearance. Watching the machines around him warily, Folken doubted if sophisticated' was the word he would use.   
  
And so the mighty Folken, who needs no benefactor nor defender graces me with his presence once again. I was not expecting such resignation, young man. Your fire has proven time and again to be your greatest strength, more so than many others. That isn't to say, of course, that there are not other qualities within you that can prove...shall we say, felicitous.   
  
Why am I here? Folken asked, his voice foreign in his own ears. I thought you'd given up on me.  
  
Given up on you? Dornkirk sounded fairly amused. It was my order that brought you here, my boy, back out of the gutters and into civilization once more. Your display in the common was most interesting to me, old as I am. I must say that I was glad to see you exhibit yourself thus, though sadly it was a lesson I wish I could have spared you.  
  
Every sound the Emperor made echoed in his mind as freely as it did through the chamber. Old and feeble as he was, he commanded every bit of Folken's attention and regard, though Folken's profound dislike for the man had certainly not abated.  
  
You nearly died to protect the doppleganger. Once more the voice broke through his reverie. I must say that I am surprised, in some respects. May I ask you a question? The old man's tone was a strange one, kind but still stern. Folken nodded once, slightly. The Emperor smiled very faintly. Why did you protect him?  
  
When Folken didn't answer, the smile became broader and more knowing.   
  
If I may, I would say that his suffering troubled you. I doubt if I'm very far from correct in that assumption. You hardly could have known that the doppleganger was acting on your behalf, after all. Yes, he said grandly, noticing the look Folken cast him. Zongi took the metal for you, and several much more minor things from the upper reaches of the fortress. Apparently you didn't know how feared the dopplegangers are to most these days. Very few dwell amongst other races because of that. Zongi and the other were captured some time ago in battle, sold to Zaibach only very recently. We have ways of accounting for dopplegangers that other nations lack, though Zongi wasn't aware that we could detect him. So strange, the way people behave sometimes - the things they do, even when they know their actions might never be recognized. For only a crust of bread and a bit of cheese, you bought Zongi's admiration. And with your blood and your flesh, you bound him to you. The loyalty of a doppleganger is difficult to earn, but of the most enduring kind.  
  
You have a chance to help me, Folken. The old man's use of his name was almost amusing to him. I can end all suffering, erase the fates of war and violence. I can give Gaea a new beginning beyond what any might imagine. There will be bloodshed in the meantime, but think of what we can accomplish!  
  
He had heard this before, but something in Dornkirk made him pay more attention now. The old, rheumy eyes were brighter, more filled with the kind of fire that made looking away an unimaginable offense.  
  
I..I can't...He started, faltering under the man's enabling glance.  
  
My boy, I never wished to bring you pain, but our fates are not yet solely under our control. Within you, I have seen potential unmatched, rivaling that of nearly every man that I command. I need you. Because of your reluctance, that need has forced me to make a most unpleasant choice, one for which you may never forgive me. Yet ultimately, your decision will make the greatest difference, not mine. You will join the ranks of the sorcerers of Zaibach, or three hundred demi-humans of your own choosing will be put to death at once.  
  
Folken's outrage brought him at a run to Dornkirk's throne, fury rising through the bile in his throat. Why would you do such a thing!?  
  
I will do it, he said, with a level gaze that Folken had trouble matching, because you are of more value to me than all of them, individually or collectively.   
What I hope to accomplish will give every life new depth. I am not a selfish man - I have no love of power or glory, nor am I excited by war. The world I come from is a much different place than this one, but it too has seen the ravages of too many wars and the devastation blind ambition can wreak. You will stand by my side, and we will usher in an age more golden than any lesser mind can even dare to imagine. Perhaps few deserve or can appreciate such a reality, but we owe it to them. We will bring them peace. I wish you hadn't brought me to such a precipice, but I will force your hand if I must. You will do as I ask, without complaint, and I will spare them.  
  
It was a statement, not a suggestion. Closing his eyes provided Folken no refuge; he could see the faces of Zongi, Delleva, Onru, Merle, and endless others. For every demi-human Dornkirk would kill, he could name a person dear to him that he would die to save. With a terrible twinge of heart that made him want to retch, Folken knew he would do as the Emperor commanded.  
  
  
Ollen70: I know I go off on a tangent with Dornkirk's character, but I've never really seen him as the stereotypical evil guy. I think his motives were supposed to be good originally. But hey, power corrupts, right? If not, I wouldn't have material for this story. But now, things seem to be running away with me. I don't really have a plan for this, so if there's any particular scene you'd like to see, please let me know and I'll be happy to do what I can to put it in. Thanks for reading so far. It might take a few days for me to get chapter six in decent condition, but I'll try to write fast.   
  
  
  
  



	6. The collapse of a strongwilled man

  
Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, the Iron general, the Platinum general, Zongi, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.  
  
Ollen70: This chapter is on a whole new level of depressing.' I apologize for that, but this really hasn't been the greatest week for me. Plus, writing anything while listening to Torrini's Gollum's song, or Elizabeth Fraser's This Love is not a good idea if you're trying to be uplifting.   
  
Again, there isn't any real reason why this should be rated higher than PG, except that the overall mood is far from happy. So if you're not really into angst, why on earth have you read this far in the first place?  
  
  
Chapter Six - - The Collapse of a Strong-willed Man  
  
  
Dornkirk's favor brought more responsibility than Folken had initially expected. Every morning, he was awakened by one of the Sorcerers of Zaibach and taken to a different part of the fortress. He didn't know if they moved him so much to intentionally keep him off guard, but it certainly worked to that effect. The constant strangeness made it difficult for him to apply himself as intensely during his lessons, but he found that, in time, his sense of perception had sharpened considerably. Every day the Sorcerer he was with presently would ask him vaguely about the lessons given the day before, and each day he recalled a bit more.  
  
Three weeks passed before Folken was given leave to enter the machine labs again, only this time, he was allowed access to the lab of the Sorcerers himself. Remembering vague details from his...augmentation...and his failed attempt at subterfuge made him more than a little reluctant to enter, but the wonders that awaited him were too vast to pass up. In a matter of weeks, he was granted all the time he could spend poring over the notes of the Sorcerers and actually making progress on the matter of the liquid metal that had gotten him so badly beaten in the first place.  
  
Folken fully supported the theory of one Sorcerer in that the metal was not actually a metal, but a life form of some sort. The way it behaved under stimuli like heat, electrical current and, as he had discovered earlier, human touch, initiated the edges of an idea in his mind.   
  
On the northern front, the weaponry of the Zaibach empire was not as efficient as anyone would have liked. The northern armies were holding, their success heartening other nations that might have surrendered peacefully. It fell on the Sorcerers, as chief alchemists of the empire, to devise some new means that could give Zaibach a technological edge. The flame weapons all Zaibach Guymelefs used were highly inefficient, relying on the black waters found deep underground for fuel. Folken was set to work on these, with the hope that he might somehow find the means of improving upon the design.   
  
At first, many of the Sorcerers had been openly skeptical of his ability. It wasn't until Dornkirk sent them the inventions Folken had been constructing since his arrival. Folken's embarrassment turned into confused pride when he was sent straight away to the labs, the Sorcerers convinced that he knew more than enough to be trusted with such complicated technology.   
  
Progress, when it came at all, was slow and painful. Days could go by without any improvements in any of the designs, or, worse and more frequent, a model or design went horribly awry and had to be completely re-worked. Often he would return to his quarters to see the tell-tale signs of dawn stretching out again across the horizon, the day and the night totally spent in an endeavor he didn't support or believe in. But then, he knew he had no choice. To disobey would mean the death of far too many innocents, and he couldn't let that happen.  
  
Time passed, and Folken found himself working more closely with Dornkirk. the old man would dictate to Folken what he thought should be done on a particular piece of technology, and Folken would see that it was completed correctly.  
In those instances, Dornkirk imparted all sorts of wisdom from the land known as England' that he had come from. The ideas of science and gravity - with which Dornkirk was intricately familiar - empires, servitude and punishment, life, death, and God...  
  
To Folken, the idea of an all-powerful, all-knowing God was an appealing one. The Fanelian Gods were petty, exacting revenge against the earth for the minor trespasses against them, committed by ignorant mortals. It was comforting to think that a God might exist to protect the worlds and the people who dwelt upon them, rather than punish them simply for being what they were. It was fitting that, as much as he would have liked to embrace the concept of such a God, he had already unwittingly allied himself with Dornkirk in a war against Him.  
  
Given his new status, Folken was permitted in all parts of the fortress, even places he didn't know existed until a few days earlier. Among these were the elusive science labs that belonged to Dornkirk himself, the operations rooms, and the libraries. Of these, Folken found himself spending the most time in the latter. The collection of books was truly astonishing, containing old novels, non-fiction, historical entries, and all manner of scrolls and manuscripts in languages he'd never heard of before. When he read enough, he discovered that he began to become absorbed in the text, so swept along by the narrative that his own life seemed to garner the texture of a novel on its own.   
  
The Sorcerers gave him more liberty day by day. Improvements made to the flamethrowers were far beyond what even he had expected. He'd found that it was possible to perfect the movements of the liquid metal - called which literally meant shining life - by exposing it to a carefully controlled electric current, but he was still curious as to how he could increase the weapon's effectiveness with this new knowledge. He felt like the stereotypical hero whenever a new discovery was made. The excitement surging through him was euphoric, yet sickening the more removed he was from the feeling. He reminded himself often to what end these discoveries would be put. Infuriatingly, it didn't make the feeling go away.  
  
  
  
The most troubling story was the one told on the nights when Delleva visited him in his chamber. She was gaining courage, stopping by much more frequently now of his restored state within the empire. The way she looked at him indicated that she felt pride, but he often wondered who she was proud of - him, or herself?   
  
Usually when she visited, she only held him. Often times she'd kiss him, or else delicately trace the flesh of his back with her fingertips. It didn't really matter. Whatever took place, it was always what she wanted. It had been some time since he'd resisted her. he lost the will to resist when he'd bowed before and accepted his fate blindly - ironic, when Dornkirk's purpose was to break the bindings of God's fate and unleash absolute fortune for the people of Gaea.  
  
The setting was always the same. Sometimes the dialogue would change, but often it too was as static as the plot. She would come, and then leave him as less than he had been before. He was nothing to her. All the power in the room belonged to her and her alone, and he hated her for that. He was no longer a Sorcerer in her grasp - he was nothing more than a frightened, mangled boy, alone with her because the world hated the sight of him.   
  
She pulled him close, resting her head on his chest and then lay perfectly, unbelievably still.With the pressure of her against him, he could feel the beating of his own heart very clearly. It was not panicking, as he was. It was merely doing the work it was made to do, throbbing in time with his soul - the pendulum of his being. Suppressing a scoff at his own fawning sentimentality, he turned his eyes to the ceiling.   
  
They were using each other. That's all it was and all it could ever be, as much as it upset him to finally admit it. She needed him for position and prestige in the empire. As long as he did as he was beckoned by Dornkirk, she would never lose her leverage. And he, he clung to her like a child to an item of security. She reminded him of everything that he could never have again, no matter how much success he might gain through his newer role. She was the mountains, the forests, the streams, the quaint cottages, the towering monuments, the regal wings of the palace that had been his home... She was as close as he could come to Fanelia. And they both knew it.  
  
In the moment she closed in around him, her proximity stifling in the chill of the room. He detested her arrival as much as he craved it, longing for her touch even though it was empty. It was reminiscent of affection, but held none by itself. He couldn't imagine it ever being more than what it was just now. A tear slid noiselessly down his cheek. He could tell himself that he was in control as often as he chose. The truth of the matter was that nothing would ever change.  
  
  
Ollen70: A shorter chapter, and I'm sorry about that. The next one will be longer, I promise. I'm also sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this up. I hope the next chapter will be faster, but I'm having trouble figuring out where to go with this. Not that it's stopped me before...   
  
I always say this, but I really appreciate it when I get reviews. It helps unbelievably.  



	7. Onward, unto the breaking dawn

  
Ollen70: I'm very, very sorry that it's taken almost two weeks for me to update. Since I really messed up my eyes, I haven't been able to work much on the computer, because looking at the glowing screen isn't all that pleasant. To make up for it, this chapter is pretty darn long, and I promise it won't take me so much time to get the next one up.  
  
Before we get started, I'd like to say thanks' yet again to Myst Lady and Atari for reviewing almost every chapter of this story. =) You're wonderful, just so you know. I really, really appreciate all the comments and suggestions.  
  
This chapter is pretty much just flat out depressing. Forget the intrigue and the angst. It's just plain old sad. And abrupt, in many places, which I might have to fix later on, because I'm pretty sure there are some places that don't really make sense. As always, I'm looking for someone to beta these chapters before I post them. If you're interested, it'd be great to hear from you, and I'd be more than happy to return the favor if you'd like me to.  
  
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Surprise, surprise.  
  
Chapter Seven - - Onward, unto the Breaking Dawn  
  
  
  
Time held me green and dying  
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.   
  
Dylan Thomas - - Fern Hill  
  
  
  
...and now, the metal will respond to the electrical impulses transferred by the guymelef's pilot. In other words, the Chlima claw will change to form whatever the pilot wishes, within certain boundaries, of course. But with this new weapon, who could stand before the guymelefs of Zaibach? Once more, we will be utterly unstoppable! The Chlima metal would do more than what the Sorcerer told the massed soldiers below him in the parade ground. Its combustibility made it the perfect fuel source for the flamethrowers, as well as an independent weapon. Folken watched the announcement from a window on the eastern side of the courtyard a little sadly. This new form of terror could be attributed to him and him alone. There was no one more responsible for the Chlima claw than he, and all the lives it claimed would be on his conscience. His fingertips found his cheek and traced over the tear that he'd emblazoned there. It was customary for the Sorcerers to mark themselves in a distinguishing fashion. He couldn't think of any other symbol that would fit him better. Since he had no real tears of his own left within him, it was alright to remind himself of the sadness that would never leave him fully.  
  
  
  
Lord Folken. Folken turned to face the Platinum general as he approached. The man wasn't exactly smiling, but he wore a reasonably friendly expression. Under different circumstances, Folken might have appreciated the other's presence, but for the moment, his customary loneliness was something he craved. The other man put a hand on Folken's back, carefully below the metal shoulder blade. Folken knew he did this to keep Folken from remembering his deformity, yet the action only made him more aware of it.  
  
You're looking well. It was a blatant lie. Even to himself, Folken looked far more gaunt, the angles of his face sharper than they had been. His skin, pale before, now nearly glowed, standing out against the dark circles about his eyes.   
  
This is a great day for the empire, my lad. You've done much for us, and we owe you our gratitude. The man spoke in a manner that reminded Folken of Adelphos, save that the Platinum general's voice was softer and more accountably personal. Our enemies will fly before us. Think of the soldiers you have saved with this new device.  
  
Folken didn't think it would have been possible for the man to choose words that would wound him more. Instead of heroic Zaibach soldiers, his mind was more preoccupied with weeping widows and orphaned children in the nations Zaibach would overtake - of burning villages and the empty, burned out ruins that would stand in place of flourishing cities that once held laughter and joy. Was there anything good in this world that he had not blighted?   
  
I thank you... Folken replied awkwardly, wondering what else he could have said.   
  
I can imagine how Dornkirk's aims must appear to your eyes. When I first agreed to become a general under Zaibach, I felt the same. But he offers us a chance to mold our own fortunes as we see fit.  
  
We've always had that choice. It just takes more work.  
  
The general scoffed. You're bright, young lad. I knew there was a reason I liked you. But do yourself a favor and continue to be bright. There isn't a future outside of Zaibach for you.  
  
Folken was inwardly cross at the man for bringing up these points again. Hadn't he just proved his loyalty with the invention of the new weapon? Hadn't he twisted something innocent and remarkable to cruel end?  
  
I will stand with Zaibach. If Dornkirk accomplishes what he's set out to, the world will be kinder for everyone. I stay because I believe in his dream.  
  
Don't lie to yourself. We both know better. His eyes never left Folken's face. You stay because of her. There was no need for him to explain who her' was. You've lost a limb. Surely you can vouch for the old rumor - that sometimes you actually believe that you still feel sensation, even though there's nothing. Emotion is, in many ways, very much like that. We trick ourselves into thinking we love or we hate, when in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.  
  
I... I guess that's true... Folken pulled his thin black cloak around his shoulder unconsciously, not meeting the general's gaze.   
  
Do you honestly think she could love you? I don't mean to be cruel, boy, but open your eyes. Surely you've felt love - any kind of love - in your life before. Don't you know that what she gives you couldn't be further from it?  
  
Folken wouldn't admit to the man's face that he was right, but privately he had no doubt that every word was true.   
  
Why is it your concern? His voice held bitterness and he made no attempt to disguise it.  
  
It isn't. But it's something you should know, just the same. All I ask of you is to consider what I've said. The general left him to the balcony. The man's orations, though probably meant with the very best intentions, proved to set a very low precedent for the remainder of the day. He righted himself at once - the railing beneath his hands, once friendly to his touch, denied him now. It wanted nothing to do with him, and he didn't blame it. There was little in this place that cared for him. The city itself found him distasteful, which increased his own dislike of it ten-fold.   
  
Nowhere he went made him feel more secure in the decisions he'd made. Like always, it was his punishment to always live somewhere between the present and the past, forever regretting every choice he'd ever made. Whatever future fates waited to be decreed by a higher power - or by Dornkirk, if they succeeded in their mission - he doubted that he would ever escape the guilt that clung to him like an odor.  
  
  
  
When the last light had fled from the sky, Folken ventured to the top of the fortress, leaving his tunic and cloak behind. For the first time in months, the moon shone brilliantly across this kingdom that dwelt long in coldness. Spring was still some time away.   
  
After carefully scanning the area for eyes of any kind, he stepped up the the edge of the roof and spread his arms wide. Taking a deep breath, he forced it out and bit down on his lower lip, never quite used to the sensation his wings prompted when they emerged. It wasn't exactly painful - more than anything, it reminded him of waking up in the morning after sleeping all night with his good arm underneath him. The pins-and-needles twinge that ran through him didn't last long, so he flapped the wings twice experimentally before racing outward to embrace the night.  
  
It had been long since he'd last flown. He'd forgotten how liberating it was, to be alone in the sky, as separated from other people as he could be. There was no one here to judge or deride him. He was truly lord of the sky, soaring so high above the ground in a plane no human would understand and no levy-ship or guymelef pilot would ever appreciate the way he did at this moment.  
  
In this one last freedom, Folken wasn't ready to let himself grow distant. He soared through the air until his wings grew so heavy it was all he could do to beat them. The air was cold and still under the light of the moon. No thermals rose, so all his altitude was gained out of his own effort alone.   
  
He flew until dawn. After the ceremony the day before and the unrefuted success of the new Chlima claws, Folken knew it wouldn't matter to anyone if he couldn't be found for a day or so. Even if it had, once the band of light that was the morning stretched across at the edge of the world, he knew he couldn't turn back even if he'd wanted to. The call was too strong, and he had no desire to deny it.  
  
The fertile hillsides below him, most untended and allowed to grow into a wild tangle of underbrush, gave way reluctantly to the peaked tops of houses. Whatever this village was, it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. The lines between kingdoms were blurred under his eyes and wings, and he soared high above the dappled buildings with no care in the world.   
  
  
  
Every two days he flew in exactly the same direction, marveling at each new detail that caught his attention. He was well aware that his absence was starting to raise eyebrows among the Sorcerers, but since Dornkirk had recently begun working so closely with him, his idiosyncrasies were publicly ignored. He had no doubt the Iron general might voice his objections, but ever since the incident involving Zongi, few paid him any mind.   
  
As long as Folken completed his tasks on time, no one had any right to complain of his stranger behavior. Dornkirk had commissioned him to work very closely with Zongi on a defensive device for the guymelef army, and though Zongi had no knowledge of machinery or technology of any kind, his unwavering concentration and almost filial devotion to Folken helped them make much more rapid progress than when he'd built the Chlima claw.  
  
This particular morning, he soared lower than normal. A light fog kept him safely obscured from the peasants below, but it was probably more of a risk for him to approach the villages today than when the sky was bright. The peasants in many villages were highly superstitious - he did not doubt that this one was not an exception. Many did not know the legend of the draconian as well as the people of Fanelia, and so did not readily associate them with ill-fortune or disaster. On this shrouded day, he could understandably be mistaken for an eagle or hawk out for a hunt. The arrows of the peasants were sharp, even if their eyes could be fooled.  
  
Perhaps it was Delleva that had encouraged his latest excursion, or at least his carelessness in descending, when he knew there was no good reason for him to. This village was not special. But it was a refuge, far away out of the reach of anyone who might manipulate him.  
  
What could you be to me? A battered boy with no past? Why should I condemn myself to a future as bleak as the one you've decided to paint yourself into? You consistently choose to aim low, then achieve even less than that. I couldn't love something so weak, even if I felt like I should try. All I can do for you is pity what you've let yourself become. Her voice had not been indignant or loud when she railed upon him. In fact it held only relative disdain that was all the more upsetting.  
  
I've become what you asked me to become! His anger was not pure anymore. It was already occluded with many other nameless emotions. What more could I do?  
  
You'll never be anything, Folken Strategos. You're a dead man with no home, no pride, no honor, no family... Do you think yourself worthy of love?  
  
I hate you! He spat at last, desperate within himself, shaking with impotent fury at everything and nothing. I hate you more than anything! He wanted to share the pain with her that was his life. He wanted her to show him that she felt anything, no matter what it was. Love, hatred...it was all the same.  
  
Well then. Her lips curved in the cold shadow of a cruel smile. She once again consumed him in her arms, not leaving him to his own self-pity. I'm glad we understand one another. He didn't cry when she kissed him. Not outwardly, at least.  
  
  
  
Now, his wings flared against the strain of the air, his senses heightened by his own distress, he was more aware of a thick trunk of smoke that spiraled upward into the sky. Closer and closer he drew, his mind reeling with a thousand other things that did not at all concern this one moment.  
  
  
  
You're a draconian, aren't you? The Platinum general had asked, coming to his room not long after his confrontation with Delleva.  
  
Folken was taken aback by the abruptness of the remark, as well as the fact that the general knew. He was sure he'd been secretive when he'd left each night, shielding his secret for all he was worth.  
  
Dornkirk has always known. It's one of the reasons he saved you, after all. Who better to manipulate fate than the descendant of the Atlantians themselves?  
  
Folken cursed himself for never making that connection sooner. Of course Dornkirk rescued him because of what he was, not who. But that didn't matter any more. He didn't need to be loved, or cared about, or regarded with any kind of compassion at all. He'd forgone those things. What mattered now was that he meant to spend his life on behalf of all of the others in the world who might find themselves in a position like his, suffering so that they wouldn't. The fingers of his real hand found the metal shoulder and traced it quietly.  
  
Of course it is. But how did you know? I doubt he'd tell you outright.  
  
He didn't need to. Everyone knows Draconian blood flows in the family of Fanelia. Besides, I saw you land last night. Be more discreet in the future, Folken. There are others who are not nearly so accepting as I. It was when the man was finally gone that he realized the general hadn't answered Folken's question.  
  
  
  
He was closer now, so closer that the rising smoke burned his eyes and filled his lungs as he gasped against it, but he held his course. A building burned merrily on the outskirts of the village, but it looked as though it might have been set deliberately. There were villagers about, but none of them seemed concerned with the fire - in fact, some were piling rubbish on it to fuel it to even greater fury. Since it was by no means an old or run down structure, Folken was confused. What reason did anyone have to burn such a place? And why did he feel an overwhelming sense of dread when he looked into the rising flames?  
  
Harsh shouting tore his attention from the blaze to a large mob armed with farm implements and torches, heading northward toward the bluffs that overlooked the village. Whatever their intent, Folken would bet his good arm that it wasn't noble. He wheeled once sharply and anticipated their course, swooping straight in that direction and so outdistancing them.   
  
Two tiny figures huddled on the edge of the bluff seemed to be their destination. He could make out very little about them, save that they were sleek and difficult to distinguish against the rust and silver on the cliff, brought out by winter's end. Before he could gather himself enough to decide what he would do, the figures leapt into the empty air from the face.   
  
Without hesitation Folken drove downward with a speed he did not know he possessed. From such a distance he was sure there was nothing he could do, but he urged his wings to lend him greater strength all the same. The race with gravity ended abruptly when he swept both figures into his arms and drifted to the ground, made lazy now with his own vast relief at his success.  
  
No sooner had he released his two burdens than they both turned and lashed at his hands with sharp claws and teeth. Though he winced, Folken made no move to draw his hands away. He shouldn't have expected any different from two frightened little girls. Two frightened leopard girls, to be more specific. It wasn't of interest to him before, given that he was desperate to reach them and so did not care who or what they were, but these two were decidedly young, one a sterling silver hue and the other brilliant gold. Both were lithe and beautiful in their own right.  
  
Poor things. You must have been so frightened...  
  
  
  
Ollen70: It's a weird place to leave off, but there should be more up in a matter of days. The next chapter probably won't as long, since I leave to climb Diamond Peak with some friends at the end of the week. After that, everything should be back to the general once-a-week routine.  



	8. What dost thou garner

  
Disclaimer: You guessed it. I don't own Visions of Escaflowne.  
  
  
  
Ollen70: This chapter will be brief, but hopefully still good.   
  
  
Chapter Eight - - What Dost Thou Garner...  
  
  
  
The two leopard girls, whom he later learned were called Naria and Eriya, respectively, showed him not even the slightest hint of trust at the first. Not that he blamed them in any way. Dressed as he was in black leather, wings still fully unfurled from his shoulders, it was no doubt they stared up at him with eyes that were muted and unreadable. It took two days for him to assure them that of all the nations in the highlands, Zaibach would be kindest to them. All of this persuading was done en route to Zaibach on foot, though he didn't deign to tell them the destination of the road he chose just yet. Folken couldn't carry them both, especially when they weren't willing to be borne, and besides, with the villagers still combing the countryside for them, they both knew well the wisest course of action was to stay close by their new benefactor.  
  
But what are you, exactly? The golden one asked him during part of his speech, wrinkling her nose. Why do you have wings? I didn't think humans could fly. This led to a long, complicated explanation he was sure she didn't understand, when all the while he fought down the urge to tell her that he didn't know what he was either.  
  
Nothing Folken said sounded right in his own ears. He felt awkward and almost ashamed, knowing well he was leading two innocent girls into the same trap he himself had been led. And yet at the same time, he was honestly saving them. Gold and Silver twins were unheard of - if this pair didn't become a part of the empire, surely they would be cornered again and enslaved or sold to the highest bidder, and he was not willing to see that take place.   
  
There was absolutely no fairness in the hand they had been dealt. Folken could think of few others who more deserved the opportunity to build their own fate, after what had befallen them, and he would make it his duty to see that they received it. For the first time since he'd been introduced to Dornkirk's ideals, he began to believe the man might not be so very in the wrong after all. Perhaps he truly did feel as strongly for the downtrodden as Folken did.  
  
  
  
The morning of his return to Zaibach was not a pleasant one for any of the people concerned. Dornkirk was beside himself with fury at Folken's prolonged absence, his outrage lifting only when he beheld the two young leopards. He immediately made Folken responsible for their every action, threatening dire consequences upon him if they found mischief to create in the palace. For all his orations, Folken noticed with some surprise the moisture gathering in the corners of the old man's eyes when he entered Dornkirk's chamber. He was assigned no new tasks and given a fair amount of space in the concurrent week, both signs that the Emperor bore no ill will.   
  
Delleva was another matter entirely. The bitterness between Folken and herself was now very nearly a fume. He'd seen her once or twice, but she made no attempt to approach him and he certainly wasn't eager to remind himself of what she'd told him emphatically on their last encounter. They'd never been as intimate as the rumors in the fortress told. She had held him often, manipulating his emotions into what she'd wanted them to be, but that was the extent of it.  
  
Nearly two weeks after his return, it became clear that the presence of the twin dissuaded her entirely now. She might hiss at them when they ventured a bit too near, but never struck or gibed them openly. Despite her odd change in mannerisms, there were others in the fortress he trusted even less. Folken was absolutely determined not to allow them out of his sight for any longer than necessary, nor to permit any of the other Sorcerers within spitting distance of his two charges. When he couldn't watch them himself, he implored Zongi to stay close by.  
  
  
  
Not barely a week after they'd arrived, before Dornkirk had willed Naria and Eriya under his care, he returned to his chambers after laboring with Zongi to find most of his belongings scattered about and the curtains near the windows shaking and weeping. Highly disconcerted, he drew the indigo brocade back very slowly only to be surprised by a shock of silver hair and bright eyes, now full of tears. The young girl only stared up at him, obviously too terrified to do anything else. He opened his mouth to question her, but all the words lodged in his throat.   
  
Y..you won't....you won't tell on me...will you...? She asked finally, her voice very timid and small. I...I don't want to go back to them...  
  
He wasn't quite certain who she'd meant by them.' At first he assumed she might be referring to the soldiers or one of the generals, at least until he saw the black cloaks of the Sorcerers flashing past the doorway.  
  
She must have gone this way! One called to the others, dashing down the corridor recklessly. The way she tensed so incredibly at the sound of that voice left him with little doubt.   
  
She clung to him now. Without knowing quite why, he hugged her close to him.  
  
Don't worry. His tone was identical to the one he'd often use with Van when his younger brother woke in the throws of panic following a nightmare. Everything's going to be... Here he stopped abruptly. He knew as well as she did that for her, nothing was going to be alright. Lying even for the sake of a moment's comfort did no one any good. She stiffened again, not so distressed to overlook Folken's telling omission. In compensation, he cradled her head with one arm and hummed a soothing melody that was known only to the royalty of Fanelia. It took quite awhile for her to grow calm enough at his touch to drop in to sleep. When she did, he lifted her slight frame easily and bore her back down the corridor, back to the horror that undeniably waited for her there.   
  
After passing her back over to the waiting hands in the science labs, he returned to his chamber sick at heart, more laden with guilt than he could ever remember. His private vow to let no bad thing befall the young leopard girls was still all too fresh in his memory. Not able to console himself with thought or word, he rushed desperately to the lavatory and retched.   
  
  
  
Ollen70: Hmm. Maybe not a very pleasant place to leave off, but I'll write on the train this week and have a new chapter up by Sunday or before. Also, I've been having real trouble coming up with chapter titles. If you have any suggestions, they are, as always, very welcome.  



	9. From so boldly renouncing the wind?

Ollen70: This isn't a very good chapter. At all. I'll be the first to admit that, but I wrote it in response to a review I got a few days ago. While the story is going in the basic direction I'd like it to, I'm pretty sure a lot of the explanation leaves a lot to be desired. Well, I tried. Maybe the next chapter will be better. I really don't have a definite idea of how much longer this is gonna be, but I think I'm a little more than halfway done. Pretty odd, since I was really planning on letting the first chapter stand alone as a one-shot. Guess it kind of got away from me.  
  
  
To Atari - - I've only taken biology and anatomy classes, and all I know about machines is what I've learned from fixing my own car (I'm a jobless college kid...) so I really don't know how well I'll be able to describe any of the mechanical stuff, but I'll try just the same. (Something tells me terms like fuel-injection' and catalytic converter' aren't going to help me much.) I've been brushing up by reading through auto manuals. (Yeah, I know I'm a loser...) Anyway, if Mercedes or Chevy starts mass-producing guymelefs after this, blame me.   
  
  
Chapter Nine - - ...From so Boldly Renouncing the Wind?  
  
  
Time was not a solid, uniform thing. Folken was continually amazed by just how much of it he must have lost whenever he had the opportunity to really stop and consider what had happened to him over the last few years. He stood now on a balcony of the Vionne, his black cloak wrapped customarily around him even though the wind's crispness, had it reached his flesh, would have been welcome.  
  
It seemed he had gone to sleep one night and awakened in this future that he had contributed so much to, yet felt like such a stranger in. So many small things about him were different now - it was rare for him to remove his cloak for any reason in public. His hair no longer hung long and loose over his forehead. It had been cropped short, sharper now in agreement with the angles of his face.   
  
If time had given him anything, it was simple acceptance over the changes that would have kept even his own family from calling him by name, had they seen him.  
  
Turning away from the gentling calm, he made his way back into the honeycomb of steel that was the mighty floating fortress. The Vionne was his now, bestowed upon him by Dornkirk after the last of his projects had been successful. Like usual, the corridors were empty.  
  
Folken went on his way, happy again for the solitude. The only people whose company didn't repulse him were Naria, Zongi, and Eriya, and occasionally the Platinum general or Adelfous, though with the increased use of the fleets of late, it was uncommon for either of the generals to be anywhere in the vicinity of the Vionne. Now that Folken was in charge of most of the fleet and troop movements, he spent weeks at a time in the floating fortress. After the successful completion of the stealth cloak, finished after six years of exhaustive research and many failed attempts, Dornkirk had decided Folken should coordinate the political maneuvers necessary for the Destiny Prognostication project. There were several key places that had to be taken and held if Dornkirk's dream was ever to reach fruition.  
  
This train of thought led inevitably to the one person Folken detested even more than Delleva, though it had been some time since he'd seen her. The soldier Folken had found himself faced with nearly four years ago was by far worse than the manipulative cat woman in his own, more sadistic way. Dilandau Albatou was not a pleasant person to encounter on any terms. Even the thought of the silver-haired, red eyed man brought a breath filled with exasperation and contempt past his lips.   
  
For all that, Dilandau was remarkably effective. Every task he was sent to do he eventually accomplished in one way or another, though it was almost never done in a fashion Folken would have preferred. Every battle Dilandau fought left woe for his enemies. Thus far, the soldier had not lost once. His nature wouldn't permit it. In an ordinary man, such a record would have merited honor, but Dilandau was engineered to be a warrior beyond reckoning. From the few, scattered reports he'd received when Dilandau was transferred to the Vionne, Folken had learned that much.   
  
None of the Sorcerers deigned to discuss the situation openly with him, but that wasn't surprising now that he worked exclusively with Dornkirk. What experiments that went on in the council were no longer of his concern unless they pertained to machinery. Folken's purpose now was as the Emperor's Strategos, and with that honor' came the responsibility to accept all under his command, personal biases notwithstanding. It was interesting to him, in a callous sort of way, how much he had compromised himself over the passing years. Whatever he thought of Dilandau and his methods, he still tolerated the actions of a being who was not only unnatural and frightening, but a murderer of the very honor - the very ideals, rather - that Folken believed he was fighting for.  
  
Of course, he quickly reminded himself that it didn't really matter what they fought for. Folken was trapped just the same, for leaving was no more of an option now than ever had it been. He no longer lied and told himself that he had some degree of control, especially with the recent prophecies Dornkirk had been spouting after the long hours he spent consulting the newly constructed destiny screen in his fortress.  
  
This, like many advancements, had been made chiefly by the joint efforts of Folken and Dornkirk, and it functioned like most of the holo-screens in the empire, save that it amplified a certain sine wave that those who were psychic could harness naturally. Because of this, it gave unclear flashes from time to time of events that *might* come to pass and how they may possibly affect the manipulation of destiny.   
  
It became Folken's rather arduous task to carry out Dornkirk's orders on what should be done next after these visions, no matter how unpleasant they may potentially be. As long as he was alive he would never forget the screams of horror that could be heard even from the Vionne when the mines west of Asturia fell to Dilandau's finest soldiers. The battle, lasting only an hour at the very most, had been one-sided and exceptionally bloody. After that, the memory of any battle - irrevocable as it might be - was easy to brush aside.  
  
The tension only started to leave his arms when the familiar smell of oil and the clatter of metal on metal reached his senses. With a sigh of deep-rooted satisfaction, he pushed open the door to the largest machine bay in the fortress and stepped inside.  
  
More vast than any in Dornkirk's fortress, the machine lab on board the Vionne was perfectly square. The guymelefs stood in long rows, each in service configuration so the many engineers could swarm them like ants, replacing broken parts and repairing the pieces that were only slightly worn. If it wasn't beneath the dignity of his new station, Folken would have very happily joined them. He had never gotten his wish to pilot one of the great war machines because of the constraints on his time and activity, rather than his disability. Still, watching the machines being reconstructed was an almost soothing activity after the rigors of the day. A messy rabble of soldiers and engineers moved around him with the tried grace of those who had performed a given task many times and could not be thrown by anything, least of all the familiar appearance of Folken.   
  
Guymelefs appeared ridiculously complicated to the untrained eye, and they were, but the gears and belts inside each one worked on the balance-counterbalance principle more common in clocks and the like. Since each guymelef weighed around one metric ton on average, unless the balances were incredibly precise, it wouldn't even be possible for a human to operate one. Though the main point of the energist catalyst reactor in each one was to provide power to the engines and various weapon systems, as well as the smaller amenities like headsets and targeting sights, power was also run into each of the balances to keep them rigorously calibrated. The drums for the arm sand legs of the pilot allowed the limbs of the armor to be used as extensions of the human body because the armor was built with hydraulic systems that allowed it to in a sense, the whims of the pilot and make combat no more difficult than if the warriors fought with nothing more than their own swords.  
  
[1] The actual engine of the guymelef was a carefully crafted device made of several different alloys - any one type of pure metal wouldn't hold up against the high thermal stress generated by the energist when it was in the process of rapid radioactive decay, but at the same time, it had to contain the right amount of certain metals to protect the pilot from radiation poisoning. [2] Once the energy was created, it was used to heat water which in turn created steam for the turbines within the armor and made the hydraulic systems feasible. The only problem with this was that the very steam that permitted movement, if super-heated by a strong enough charge and then contained without release, was more than adequate to let the armor tear itself apart.   
  
Flight was accomplished by running all available power into the firing chambers created when the legs of the guymelef fused. Because of the incredible amount of energy involved, the weapons couldn't be activated without compromising the performance of both systems.  
  
The perfected stealth cloaks were another device that had to be carefully aligned before they were used. They did not actually make matter invisible by any means; instead, the cloaks were made of thousands of tiny micro fibers that contained many of the same biological agents that color-changing fish and lizards used to stay camouflaged. Interwoven with reflective crystals, the cloaks used power from the energists to activate the necessary chemicals and then match their surroundings. In the heat of battle they were incredibly effective, but there were certain shortcomings that hampered them somewhat. For instance, it took so much power to operate one that using them during flight, when they would be the most useful, was absolutely impossible. Folken was still working on a prototype guymelef that might contain more than the usual two energists, but there were structural difficulties when too many power conduits were incorporated into one design. At any rate, many local superstitions helped propagate the rumor that Zaibach had an army of invisible giants at its command. As always, any such underlying fear was never a disadvantage.   
  
The hangars were not the only place Folken sought refuge. His quarters were deep within the Vionne, in a dark, quiet room where few could find him. There was something about the quiet that appealed to him more with each passing day. Unlike the past, when his thoughts had screamed so loudly that he could never find peace in even the most silent of places, now he had little trouble appreciating the calm that dwelled inside him. It came whenever he called, but it never left without leaving him tinged by guilt. He really had no right to ever find peace, after the horrors his inventions had wrought on the earth and the future wrongs he knew he would eventually commit. He would never be able to touch another living thing with either arm and not think about the sacrifices that went into his rebirth.  
  
Naria pushed open the heavy metal door to his chamber and stepped into the dark, finding him instantly. He idly admired the cat's sense of sight she was born with when she made her way to his side and her hands found his face tenderly. Dornkirk calls for you. He has details of the next mission.   
  
He didn't know why, but she embraced him so tightly from behind when he stood that he had to sink back down for a moment. Naria and Eriya were always at his side when they could be, climbing his shoulders or curling up at his feet whenever they settled down, but he immediately sensed that there was something the matter in her touch this morning. A kind smile on her behalf was enough for her to slightly relinquish her grip and he then made his way at all haste to the Vionne's bridge.   
  
Dilandau Albatou was there already. He sneered knowingly in Folken's direction with the kind of expression one saves for a situation when an adversary is about to receive unpleasant news. Realizing that Naria was bristling with hostility, he muttered under his breath and looked away. Determined not to let his distaste shine through, he turned instead to Eriya who stood beside the master soldier. Eriya beamed at the recognition and activated the viewing screen again. Wraith-like, an odd combination of lights that slowly became Dornkirk's face lit up the screen.  
  
The old man acknowledged him alone. The dragon that occludes my visions still remains. Every time the pathways of the future begin to become more clear, his shadow falls and I can no longer see my path. But Dilandau has found him, and in time he will be in the hands of Zaibach. Folken could feel Dilandau's smug satisfaction with his back to the man; he found no reason to turn and face it head on. Dornkirk continued, but Folken immediately felt the world begin to close in around him before the words rang clear.  
  
In two days you will attack Fanelia with all necessary force. The dragon must not escape us.  
  
  
  
  
[1] Bad science, I know. Also, I'm aware that Zaibach probably didn't have any idea what radiation poisoning was. But then I thought hey, they're incredibly advanced, right? Safety first.'   
  
[2] This is just me desperately trying to explain why Dilandau's armor self-destructed after he tried to spear Van with his Chlima Claw in the City of Intrigue' episode. I know my science is very incorrect here again, but please don't yell at me because of it. I've had a rough week.  
  
  
  
Ollen70: Not a good chapter. You should probably keep in mind that I wrote this when my train got stranded for three hours in the Cascade mountains and the man next to me was snoring so loud I thought I was gonna cry.   
  
Sorry everybody, but this part absolutely refused to cooperate with me. You probably realized that when you read it. I feel bad for putting all of you through that. I know I made myself into a liar when I said this would be up in a week, but I really needed a little break. If you feel so inclined, you might want to read Eye of the Beholder' if you like Chrono Trigger, (okay, so maybe the title's a little cliche...) because that's what I've started in the meantime and it's better than this chapter was. (Not that that's saying all that much...)  
  



	10. Almost nothing left

Ollen70: Blame Guster's for the title of this one. It isn't very long and I'm sure it isn't at all what you were expecting, but that'll be coming very soon. I promise. =)  
  
  
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Escaflowne. Surprise, surprise.  
  
  
Chapter Ten - - Almost Nothing Left  
  
  
  
Yet Julia's very coldness was still kind,  
And tremulously gentle her small hand  
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind   
A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland,  
And slight, so very slight that to the mind  
Twas but a doubt.  
  
Don Juan, canto I, stanza 71  
  
  
  
Folken's eyes opened slowly, and it was with that same slowness that he rolled over, letting the very faint light of the passage into his eyes.  
  
You've come. He said at last, the sleep making his voice heavier than it normally would have been. Though I may find myself asking why.  
  
You already know why. Delleva said from the shadows beside him. You already know how. It seems, Folken Strategos, that there is little in the empire you don't know about anymore. You must be proud, having accomplished so much is so little time. Her bitterness was all too evident in the scathing quality her words carried.  
  
My accomplishments serve a greater purpose, just as all of us in the empire do. You know what our goals are.  
  
Will you ever be the fool, Folken? Delleva almost spat it. I came to know if you'll really do as you were commanded. Are you going to lay waste to Fanelia?  
  
Of course she would come for that. She was very right when she told him he already knew. Delleva had brought her own personal guymelef to the fortress in the night - Zongi alerted him to her presence before he had retired to his chambers, and he was content to wait and make her come to him. Things had changed now. She wasn't aware of how little power she had over him. She drew close again, breathing in his fear for her that would never totally diminish, no matter how much time might pass. Lissome limbs closed in about his bare chest and he was brought back down to the mattress, safe from her beneath the covers and sheets, but never really secure.  
  
Will you tell me? She asked, appearing for once demure which he found reasonably strange, given the circumstances.   
  
I will do what is necessary to fulfill my orders, no more.  
  
The consummate soldier at last, after all this time. She jibed him without affection. From a strong, defiant lad you've become a whimpering cur. You're a true disappointment after all.  
  
Because I'm not beckoning to the crook of your finger any longer? Did you think I'd come back to you again, to let you break me?  
  
You've broken yourself and you recognize it now, which does you merit at least. If I may ask a question of you, your Lordship,' here she bowed contemptuously.  
  
Can I stop you? He interjected quickly. She ignored his interruption.  
  
Do you still feel pity? Do you ever regret anything you've done, any of the lives you've ruined through your genius? Does the night ever feel so heavy to you that you wonder if you'll ever stand upright again? When he didn't answer, she rose all in one movement and made for the doorway, mistaking his silence. I thought not. He would have called after her, but the undercurrent to the tone she'd used was so surprising to him that he only half-sat in the bed, too astonished or perhaps too proud to race after her and tell her the truth. After all, what good did the truth ever really do anyone?  
  
  
  
Finding no will to sleep, he rose listlessly. The night was still thick, bringing with it memories of the first few months he'd spent in the bowels of the Imperial fortress after his horrific rebirth. Again he made his way to the balcony and overlooked what he had come to think of as the Old world. Far below, he saw the dark, disfigured lines that would eventually become the brown roads of Fanelia in the unwittingly innocent light of dawn.  
  
These things didn't really concern him, given the tremendous weight of what he knew he had no choice but to set into motion. In less than three hours, Dilandau and his most elite knights, now almost facetiously referred to as the dragon slayers' would descend on his old home, and though he had given them orders that they should conduct their business with as little bloodshed as possible, he knew as well as anyone what kind of devastation Dilandau would leave behind.   
  
Brother, I am truly sorry.' He thought to himself. It was a needless indulgence in self-pity, something Delleva would have doubtless tormented him for, had she stayed. If anyone had honestly believed in him in his entire life, it had been his dear Van, young enough to still be precious and innocent to his heart no matter how old he became.  
  
There was something in the way Delleva had spoken to him - something he had found no success deciphering no matter how hard he tried - that turned his thoughts back again and again to Van. Of course, Delleva in herself had presented him with more questions than he had time or care to address.   
  
Chiefly, why had she come to him? Why, after all her encouragements in the beginning, did she show such total disappointment in him when all of his achievements were what she had driven him cruelly to grasp for at their first meetings? And Van... was he somehow connected to all of this? Had Delleva somehow maneuvered... There was really no point in finishing that thought. As cunning as Delleva was, Dornkirk himself was the only person aside from Zongi who knew that Van was Folken's brother. The emperor agreed to keep Folken's secret, when he had demanded to know how Dornkirk knew him to be a draconian.  
Again, he found himself pondering why Dornkirk would keep such a secret if it did not benefit him at some point, (Dornkirk was not an altruist, by any stretch of the imagination) or to what end the old man might eventually turn that knowledge.  
The memory of that particular exchange came unbidden to the forefront of Folken's mind.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
You are an ingenious youth, that much is certain, but it was not for your mind alone that you were spared. I have seen your secret, Folken Strategos. Dornkirk used what at that time had been the newer name, causing Folken to cringe at the sound. It didn't belong to him, no matter how often Dornkirk attempted to promote it.  
  
I have seen your wings. Long have I known that you are at least part draconian, with ties to the fabled city of Atlantis. Only a draconian can wholly fathom the ways of the destiny prognostication devices or call upon the powers long ago sealed in them, and only you can help me rebuild them. You are more dear to me than any son can be to a father, because of the glory and the hope that you indelibly represent. Your existence will prompt the perfection of Fate. This is your heritage and yours alone. Pledge yourself to me fully, Folken, and this secret will never again pass my lips.  
  
I am loyal to the empire... Folken had said it automatically, losing his nerve when the old man raised an almost translucent hand.  
  
Are you? I have seen that you are growing restless, my boy. It drove you to find the two twins, though I cannot say why you brought them here, when you know of the first promise you made to me, regarding the conduct of the demi-humans. His voice carried the world-weariness Folken had grown to expect. You will train them to be the operatives of the empire and pledge yourself to me anew. Dornkirk had not - and still did not - know that Folken had indeed hoped the Leopards would become part of the very establishment he hated. He could ensure their safety with his own conduct instead of willing their future into the hands of an ugly mankind. He had already convinced them to give themselves over, and so the promise was an easy one to make.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
So many lives. So many people he had changed in an unsettling direction that he himself was not sure of. Now as he watched the world below him, it was too late for doubt or fear. The dawn was coming and he would soon see how many more lives his new existence would claim. With another silent prayer lodged to the foreign God Dornkirk did not believe in, Folken turned and left both home and brother to what would be.  
  
  
  
  
Ollen70: Again, it hasn't happened yet but you know it's coming. I felt that I'd left the whole Delleva thing to just float free. She might turn up again a little later on in the story. Hope you enjoyed it, and I want to say thanks' once again to Myst Lady, Atari, and Link0723.


	11. Until the Cities Lie Ruined

  
Ollen70: Well, now comes the moment you've all been waiting for. We can all see if it pays for me to write on episodes i haven't seen for almost three years. If any of this seems incredibly sketchy, let me know and I'll do what I can to fix it.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne. Go ahead, just rub it in.  
  
  
Chapter Eleven - - Until the Cities Lie Ruined  
  
  
Folken never once left the control room of the Vionne that day. His eyes locked onto the screen before him, every part of his being begged him to turn away and no longer watch what was coming to pass, but he stood rigidly, ascetic to the desires of his mind. It wasn't own of any sort of pride that he kept his lonely vigil. He'd sent Naria, Eriya, and Zongi away, certain that this was something no one else should witness. He stood alone because he knew that if he was to be the cause of so much carnage, he owed the sleepless nights, the terror that would exist forever when he closed his eyes, to these people below him that were dying. The nobility of Dornkirk's cause would never make this horror acceptable.  
  
It was three hours ago that the assault on Fanelia had begun. In that time, Folken watched much that was familiar to him burn when Dilandau and his soldiers, cowering behind their stealth cloaks, began their ruthless slaughter of Fanelia's defenders. While the citizens fled screaming, the Samurai of the royal house stood their ground. Balgous himself joined the fray eventually, encumbered by a massive claymore that helped him fell more than one of Dilandau's vanguard. But even the greatest swordsman ever known could do little against the raw efficiency of Folken's Chlima claw and the cloaks. Balgous, like so many others Folken knew and cared for, would die this day in a rain of burning debris or on the piercing metal weapons   
he had spent so much time perfecting.  
  
The longer he looked on, the more he was able to distance himself from the happenings below him. Dilandau's dragon slayers had burned so much of his former home that he could no longer distinguish the places he had once known. Fanelia became a nameless boneyard that he owed nothing. At least, until he saw him.  
  
Alone behind the burning guymelefs of the Samurai, a gray suit of armor rose suddenly, it's sword outstretched. The screen closed onto the pilot's face when Dilandau adjusted his weapons sights and Folken immediately remembered that he was seeing everything from the Captain's point of view.  
  
Folken cried into the receiver of the console, causing Dilandau's sight to waver from what must have been surprise. We're to bring the Dragon to Dornkirk intact!  
  
The orders said he was to be Came Dilandau's snide reply, but he held his fire, to Folken's infinite relief. To me, that means dead or alive.  
  
Remember your place, Albatou! Folken snapped, before switching off the   
receiver angrily. Van,' He thought silently. You aren't supposed to be here. You're supposed to be away from all of this, not pretending to be a king.' And he knew at the same time that no matter how young or inexperienced Van might be, he was ten times the king Folken ever could have been.  
  
I don't know what happened! Dilandau raged half-drunkenly at the small table in the dark common room back on board the fortress. We were so close! We actually had him surrounded, and then he was just gone!  
  
Folken didn't need to hear all of this. He'd seen it, and it was difficult to chase a small, guilty smile off his lips when he heard Dilandau's screams of rage. Folken didn't think he could ever forget the column of blue light that blossomed around the Escaflowne or around that peculiar girl that perched on its shoulder. What was even stranger were the readings he garnered from the Destiny Prognostication equipment after the beam had dissipated. All of the information hinted to some kind of reaction of fortune, but that couldn't have been the case. The Escaflowne was a risk because of the eventual role it could play, according to Dornkirk, not because of any special power or manipulation of fate that it could invoke. Whatever must have happened...  
  
Are you listening to me? Dilandau slurred, eyebrows lowering suspiciously.  
  
Folken replied quickly, rising from his steel chair and leaving Dilandau alone in the room to deal with his failure and eventual hangover. He had other matters to attend to.  
  
  
Their efforts the second time were not in vain. By keeping the girl, who Dilandau had now seen in person and still failed to recognize the potential of, from Van and safely out of the way on the Asturian levy-ship, they could easily assure that there would be no more strange reactions from any of the machinery or the guymelef that they now had in their possession.   
  
Again Folken felt physically ill, having watched Dilandau obliterate another fort and the lives of many good men for the second time in one week. But their mission was close to completion now that the Escaflowne was safely lashed into the holding bay. Van himself had been taken to well-furnished quarters on the lower levels on Folken's orders by Zongi. He didn't trust Dilandau to be anywhere near him, even though the captain didn't know of the filial nature of the relationship between Folken and Van.   
  
The old horror had shone through Dilandau's eyes when he returned with   
the Escaflowne in tow, boasting loudly of the dead soldiers and the still-burning ruins of the fort. Folken reigned in his rage with great difficulty - Asturia was an ally of Zaibach at the moment, and the knight presiding over the fort had been Allen Schezar, well known as a knight of Caelli. If he managed to tell the King of Asturia what had taken place, the second stage of their plans would ultimately fail. Zaibach could not afford to be opposed by anyone when the time came to overthrow the final nations in their way. Though they possessed a remarkable army, the strong front Asturia would present would do much to complicate matters that would otherwise be relatively simple.   
  
Guymelefs were searching for the Crusade, Allen's personal vessel, at this very moment. Once found, it would be dealt with, as simple as that. Nothing could stop Zaibach now, Folken thought with a sudden twinge of regret that upset him. Why should he feel regret now when he had striven for this all along?  
  
To Folken, the only comfort was that in a matter of days, this bloodshed would be over. His brother, the very last shred of his family or of Fanelia to live through his descent, would be safe in the Vionne until the end of all of this. And then...  
  
There was nothing else he could follow that thought with. After all of this was over, what would be left? Fanelia was gone, their parents both dead, and he the Strategos in the very empire that had already cost Gaea so much. He already knew Van wouldn't accept him. Already Van had attempted to take his own life when Folken explained to him that he wouldn't be allowed near the Escaflowne. After that, Folken removed his cloak and tunic and let his wings free on a whim, determined to lie no more if it could be avoided.   
  
Of course, Van's reaction was exactly what should have been expected. At first he swore and then raged again Folken, demanding to know why Folken would abandon his nation or kill so many who were absolutely innocent. All of the answers Folken had rehearsed left him, along with his resolve. There were many responses he could have chosen. Even the truth might have brought some sort of chilling comfort to Van, but Folken said nothing. Pity in Van's eyes could be no less painful than the raw contempt they had held, which intensified when Folken had asked him to come see Emperor Dornkirk and then decide where he stood.  
  
Smiling sadly, Folken had pricked the back of Van's neck with one of the extensions that had been built into his mechanical arm. Like many other amenities, the fingers allowed him to subdue any opponent he might face who was physically more powerful than he. Most of the others held various poisons, save for the cylinder hidden in his index finger. That contained enough [1] enflurane to keep Van out for quite some time. Or at least until Folken could decide what to do next.  
  
  
Retiring to his chamber, Folken remembered everything about Van. The way his eyes went wide when Folken spread his wings, both in horror and fascination - the moan when Folken showed him his arm - the strangled cry when Folken whistled the old tune of Fanelia...   
  
It came as no surprise to him when the Crusade arrived and attacked. With only a token force on deck, the Zaibach soldiers were driven back very quickly. All except Dilandau, who had refused Folken's order and interfered, gaining a scar in the process. It was no better than he deserved, Folken decided at length. It was very evident to him that the Crusade was on its way, and he deemed it better to lose the dragon this time than to risk everything if that odd girl managed to invoke some other strange reaction from the royal guymelef if she ventured too close and was threatened.  
  
Dornkirk had predictably been furious, but was easily placated when Folken explained the reasons behind his decision. He very carefully omitted anything regarding his thoughts on Van and to his surprise Dornkirk kept his word and made no comment. It also didn't throw him off balance when Dornkirk ordered the Vionne into Asturia at all haste, hopefully to fabricate a convincing tale for the king about what happened at the fort before Allen Schezar's arrival.   
  
Folken didn't complain, nor did he bother to hide a small smirk at Dilandau, whose face was swathed in an embellished white bandage. The captain didn't notice, but Folken resolved to keep a very close eye on him. There was little that could protect his brother if he didn't. Van was safe, for now, and that was one of the few things that mattered.  
  
  
  
[1] Enflurane is a powerful general anesthetic, for those of you who were curious. I don't know for sure if it's an injection medication or a gas, but hey, I've cheated with science in earlier chapters. Why stop now?  
  
  
Ollen70: So, here it is. I'm actually very unhappy with this chapter, but I think I'll be able to clean things up in the next one, especially regarding Folken's state of mind. And once more in case you haven't heard it often enough, I really appreciate reviews. I don't know what I'd do without Myst Lady and Atari, who have so far reviewed almost every chapter that I've posted. The two of you are the best people in the world, as far as I'm concerned. =)   
  



	12. Deceiver of nations

Ollen70: Whoo hoo! I'm on a roll! I wasn't planning on working on this for a few days, but it really came out of nowhere. I've been trapped inside, mainly because most of central Oregon is on fire, and the smoke in the air around here is so thick that you can't go outside without hacking like a tuberculosis patient. So, that's more or less the inspiration for the first few paragraphs. Yeah, I know I'm strange. I've learned to live with it.  
  
Disclaimer: If you were expecting anything about my non-ownership status to change from the last eleven chapters, I'm sorry to disappoint you.  
  
Chapter Twelve - - Deceiver of Nations  
  
  
The smoke was thick in the air. Even with the curtains over his carriage windows to stifle it, Folken couldn't escape from the odor. Sharp and very unpleasant, it held none of the spice that usually accompanies wood smoke. It more closely resembled the smell a trash fire made when it sputtered. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Folken sighed. He was breathing in all the was left of Fanelia. Even the sky was tainted, making the morning light more jaundiced than it should have been  
  
After the debacle on board the Vionne and the destruction of the Asturian fort, Folken had followed Dornkirk's orders and readied himself to face the king of the great seaboard nation. There was really very little for him to worry about - these kings were all the same in the end. All they could see were their own best interests, which were prone to change, especially when Zaibach's force served to remind them of the precarious sword of Damacles that dangled inscrutably over their thrones. Folken was well aware that a careful combination of half-truths and outright threats would leave the pompous old man absolutely mortified of him, totally permitting his manipulation in these matters. Allen Schezar didn't stand a chance.  
  
Riding through this infernal city reminded him why he wasn't totally unhappy with the life he had ultimately chosen. The cloying closeness, the incessant noise, the reek from the streets... Zaibach was far from paradise, but the cleanliness of the metal halls and its overwhelmingly vast silence suited him. Zaibach was his home now, as painful as it was to realize that. All he needed now was to bring in Van, to make him understand or at least accept Zaibach's aims. If anyone could cause him to, it would be Folken, but had he lost too much of his sibling's trust? He was not the misanthrope Delleva or Van now took him to be - instead he was the opposite. He knew he had brought his brother pain beyond bearing, but it wasn't as if he couldn't relate. He would take away that burden, if Van would let him, along with the pain of the rest of mankind. Dornkirk's aims were now where reality lay. Zaibach was the world now. Without it, there would be nothing left for him.  
  
Most of the audience with the king of Asturia was so blandly uninteresting that Folken didn't even bother to remember what was said. All he knew was that it had gone well. The king had even less dignity than he'd expected, showing no stomach for confrontation of any kind. His youngest daughter, however, was another matter. He could feel her bristling at him from across the chamber until she finally left at last, having been summoned by a guard. There was something in the way she stared at him - as if she could see through the dark cloak he'd wrapped about himself - that made him even more bitter toward this place, anxious to return to the solitude of the Vionne.  
  
Once the blonde knight had arrived, things became interesting again. Again Folken felt like the character out of a novel, only this time he was truly the villain, totally unable to pretend he could ever be any kind of hero. It wasn't as though he minded particularly. The world had plenty of heroes.   
  
There was more than a small sense of accomplishment within him when he entered the carriage again. The deed was done and he could once again return to normalcy, though it certainly wasn't lost on him that referring to his current life as normal,' even in his mind, was nothing short of perverse. Just as they'd passed over a small wooden bridge and began to make for the outskirts of the city, he heard the cry.  
  
  
  
Folken Fanel is dead. Folken replied calmly, not turning to look at Van. The time had come for honesty, and he wasn't going to insult Van's intelligence by offering him anything less. He died when his arm was taken. Are you prepared to come back with me? He knew the question had been incredibly abrupt, and judging from the expression on Van's face, it was the last one he'd expected at the moment.   
  
But you should have expected it.' He thought, watching Van silently. This time I won't give up.' His stomach wrenched when he realized that as much as he longed to save Van, sooner or later he would have to admit the fact that Van might not be turned. And if that proved to be the case, he would have no choice but to kill him.  
  
Join me, brother. He said at last, the plaintive tone coming against his ability to conceal it. We'll create a new world. It was then that the girl appeared once more, shoving Van to the wood of the bridge. At first Folken was confused, until he saw the metallic ribbon retracting back over the mountain, a silver bolt of doom.   
  
He whispered under his breath. The carriage departed at once, against Folken's protest, but there was nothing to be done. Looking back into the younger boy's eyes, it donned on him. Van believed that he was responsible for this. Not only did he fail to protect his brother once again, but he was forced to admit that because of what had just taken place, Van would probably never believe another word he said.  
  
  
All I wanted was to get Van back! Dilandau shouted after Folken's reprimand following his arrival in the Vionne once more. The silver-haired man's hand kept finding it's way to his scar.  
  
You'll have your chance for revenge once he's in our custody. Folken kept himself calm through will power he didn't know he possessed.  
  
Oh, so you're just going to give me your little brother? Don't you care about him anymore? Dilandau sneered at him, noticing the shock that Folken couldn't conceal quickly enough. The doors in this place aren't sound-proof, you know. You should really be more careful of what you say.  
  
I'm a man who destroyed my country. He replied, not rising to the bait. So Dilandau knew, but least it wasn't Dornkirk who had told him. No matter. He would deal with him when the time came. After all, Van had easily contended with everything that had so far come his way, and he felt that with that odd girl's help, capturing him again would be surprisingly difficult, even for Dilandau. But you will bring him in ALIVE, Albatou. For once the captain didn't refute him, only watching him with his disturbing red eyes. The Emperor has matters to discuss with him and you will not act so rashly again. Sufficiently browbeaten, Dilandau slunk off irreverently, and Folken decided it would be best if Zongi kept a close watch on him from this point on.   
  
Ollen70: So here we are. Feedback is always appreciated, and thanks again to my wonderful reviewers. =)


	13. Never leave me

Ollen70: Sorry for the Secret of Evermore reference in the beginning, but it just seems to fit well with all of the stuff about fate and destiny that Escaflowne deals with, so please bear with me.   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne or Secret of Evermore. And now you know.  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Thirteen - - Never Leave Me  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
The Show of Life  
  
Devil: Woe be woman, whose fate it is to serve.  
  
Mephista: May thy tongue shrivel that it spews such falsehoods.  
  
Devil: Ah, but does not a man pull thy strings? We are all but puppets of greater powers.  
  
Mephista: Puppets? As in the show of life?  
  
Devil: Truly, birth doth draw wide the curtains. And woman, are thy lines not scripted?  
  
Mephista: In that I can be no one but myself. I can only say my lines.  
  
Devil: So sad, to be so constrained.  
  
Mephista: It is I who feel for thee. Thine own role and fate has ever been written, while mine own changes with each breath. Yea, tho puppet I be, it is hope, faith, and Love that pulls my strings.  
  
Devil: Woman, mine ears do sting from thy tongue. I shall away, in search of easier folly!  
  
Excerpt from Secret of Evermore  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
No one was stunned by the news that the Escaflowne guymelef had destroyed enough energists to power an entire nation for fifteen years single-handed. Folken did manage to wonder how a thing might be done when Dornkirk told him that it would come to pass, since drag-energists were composed of an isotopic element that had crystallized, much as carbon did to become diamond. Because of this, energists were remarkably hard, only reacting in the near-perfect conditions found in the reaction-chambers of guymelefs or levy-ships.  
  
With the slight foreknowledge afforded them by whatever visions Dornkirk could convince out of the Destiny Prognostication device, the Vione and the dragon slayers made haste to move just west of where the ruined mine was, in a region not far from the small country of Freid. This would prove to be a massive convenience, if Dilandau did not fail once again, since Freid would soon play a very large part of their plan. In fact, as soon as the Escaflowne was safely under their control, the fortresses of Zaibach would begin their assault and all things would be in place. Even now, the Alseides guymelefs of Dilandau's dragon slayers were stationed in the vast forest below them, already confirming visualization of their target.   
  
Van,' Folken thought privately, this was meant to be.' His brother would come to him again and they would unite. Who could stand against the last two Draconians left in the world if they chose to fight side by side? The fortune allocation would not be interrupted by anything. Even that girl wouldn't be able to interfere any longer.  
  
There was something incredibly unsettling about her, causing him to be relatively certain she had something to do with the destruction of the mine. No guymelef could simply cause an energist reaction like the one that had taken place, shaking the ground for miles in all directions. It must be the work of the girl, causing some sort of union between Van and the Escaflowne. No one else had been able to use it the way Van had so far. There was simply no other logical explanation - Folken was left with the distinct feeling that he would have to deal with her sooner or later, and was not looking forward to that. Anyone who could manipulate destiny, especially unwittingly, was not to be taken lightly.  
  
But now, even if the girl was present, things were still in their favor. The girl could somehow see through the stealth cloaks and that irked Folken to no end, but it was Van who showed a stroke of genius by luring all of the slayers into the river where the the water they displaced would give away their positions. At this Folken was proud and annoyed all at once. Though incredibly outnumbered, his younger brother had already shown an irritating knack at getting out of seemingly hopeless situations.   
  
The darker part of him was fed up with these occurrences and almost wished Dilandau would simply kill him, ending all of the pain that the raven-haired boy's appearance was always certain to prompt. Folken rarely let himself wander into this type of thought, and when he did it was fairly easy to quash it. Hadn't he done all of this so far with Van in the middle of his thoughts, or at least others like him? Now was not the time to second-guess that, or to descend to Dilandau's level. If the fall of Fanelia taught him nothing else, it certainly served to prove that death, in any form, solved nothing for the living. It was not their tool and using it as such could lead to disaster if not done very carefully. Some part of him was certain that Dornkirk was too close to overstepping himself, and that the truths he had just made himself aware of would become much more unpleasantly clear.  
  
  
Commander, the dragon slayers have captured the target. The Vione helmsman, a heavier man with a full beard and mustache called over to him from his station on the command deck.   
  
Excellent. Take us down. We'll retrieve the dragon ourselves.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Before the descent could even begin, the helmsman called out again.   
  
Levy ship closing in from Nortra quadrant.   
  
At this Folken couldn't keep himself from promulgating a small cry of dismay. the only way a vessel could have concealed itself for so long in the Nortra quadrant was to travel through a very narrow, very treacherous ravine.  
  
Dilandau! What's going on down there? Folken called into his receiver with more urgency than he'd intended, but he doubted if Dilandau even heard him. The captain's voice came in over the com system, but the words were obviously not intended for him.  
  
It's just my luck, Allen Schezar!   
  
So the Levy ship was the Crusade. That explained several things. It was unlikely that there were any vessels south of Baslam that could make the voyage, nor any crew insane enough to attempt it.  
  
Freid convoy approaching. The man said again, his voice as iron as his armor.  
  
That's not good. Folken rose, standing in front of one of the few windows on the deck so that he could see the incoming vessels of Fried, black in the starlight.  
That's enough. Dilandau, fall back now. Some ships from Freid are approaching. If we're spotted, they might catch wind of our plan.  
  
Came the snarling cry from the com. Just when things were getting interesting!  
  
  
It was some time later, after the pilots had all returned to the fortress and the Vione had withdrawn behind the mountains that Folken made for the lounging chambers, anxious to fix the problems that had risen in their endeavor. The invasion of Freid would be taking place too soon for these kind of difficulties.  
  
Dilandau followed him into the rooms, feigning haughtiness as he sat at the table and poured himself a glass of wine from the uniquely wrought bottle nearby, passing it roughly to Folken when he was finished. Though not exactly pleased with his company, Folken knew it was necessary. The next few days would be absolutely critical, especially after the unfortunate loss of one of the dragon slayers.  
  
The dragon has fled the field. It was an aphorism, not any sort of gibe, but he doubted very much if Dilandau could tell the difference.  
  
Ha! Do tell.  
  
Along with their prisoner. Folken went on, ignoring the interruption as was customary whenever he was dealing with Dilandau. Instead he focused more on the bottle in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth glass but making no move to pour any for himself. No matter how strong the wine was, he was certain it wasn't strong enough to take him away from his cares.   
  
There is nothing to worry about. The haughtiness returned ten-fold, Dilandau's nose making a perfect forty-five degree angle with the ceiling. You see, Miguel is one of my men. He would sooner die than talk.  
  
Perhaps. But don't forget that Freid has Plactu. He didn't bother masking his annoyance at the captain's shortsightedness. Folken found speaking with anyone other than perhaps Naria and Eriya to be trying.   
  
Who's that?  
  
Plactu is... a priest, who is a master of hypnotic suggestion. He can use those techniques to extract information from the furthest recesses of the mind. It's been confirmed that he's already on his way to Godashim.   
  
This is not acceptable! Dilandau cried, knocking his chair over with a grating crash as he stood. He'll ruin our plans!  
  
Folken, having no use for the captain's tirade, simply closed his eyes. He muttered under his breath.   
  
Huh? What did you say? Suddenly Dilandau clasped his hands to his nose, backing away from the table. Oh, what's that smell? Folken would have liked to do the same, but kept his composure for the sake of his rapidly appearing friend. The chemicals Zongi used to seemingly become invisible - the same used in the stealth cloaks - were highly noxious and thoroughly unpleasant, to say the least.  
  
Dilandau backpedaled and whirled his arms, almost overbalancing in his surprise as he noticed Zongi standing beside him.  
  
But he's a Doppleganger! Dilandau protested, voicing the biases of many in the Zaibach army. Folken learned more and more how few trusted the masters of disguise, but Zongi was still his friend, and likely the most skilled spy he had ever known. If anyone could avert total disaster because of Dilandau's carelessness, it was Zongi.  
  
I have a task for you, Zongi.   
  
Ah, what is your wish? I live to serve you, Lord Folken. The reply was more servile than what Folken was used to, and he assumed Zongi must have done it out of sheer malice for Dilandau, implying subtlety that the captain had none who would not second guess the silver haired man's orders. Dilandau caught on at once, face reddening.  
  
Folken didn't have to explain anything else to the Doppleganger or Dilandau, who still eyed the gray-skinned creature with considerable distaste. Zongi was immensely intuitive and had already overheard most of the conversation, having been concealed in the corner at Folken's request. With those matters solved, he made for his private rooms. Everything had been done, so there was no need for him to be awake any longer than absolutely necessary. His dreams of late had been troubling, but not enough to discourage him from using rest as a sort of escape. The coming days could prove to be hard for everyone.  
  
  
The eventual invasion of Freid came and went almost exactly as it was meant to. The dragon escaped once more, though it was of little consequence. With the power spot of Freid, the ancient machine of the Draconians and the son of the late duke in their hands, Zaibach was now closer than ever to reaching its aims. Though Dornkirk had wished for the slayers to lay low and hopefully lure the Escaflowne in over time, Dilandau had disobeyed a direct order and pursued it anyway, which was one more reason for Folken to curse the memory of the captain. Folken's heart felt heavier, as he recalled the recent loss of Zongi at the captain's hand.  
  
Dilandau had never bothered to explain his reasons, beyond that he believed Zongi had betrayed them, but Folken knew there was no love lost between Dilandau and many of the demi-humans. That must have been why Dilandau killed him out of hand, and Folken wasn't sure how to feel. Zongi had trusted him implicitly, yet in the end Folken wasn't able to save him.   
  
Walking into the Fortuna temple, past the still-smoldering guymelefs of the fallen priests, he wondered truthfully if there was anything he would be able to do for Van. As much as he had cared for Zongi, almost in a patriarchal sense, his concern for Van was stronger. Would that be enough, though? Dilandau was just as determined to exact his revenge, and Van would undeniably be better off dead than in his hands if Folken once again proved unable to protect him.  
  
Looking up at the ancient destiny device before him, Folken felt the latent power inside of him respond to the machine, wanting to feel its force for the first time in generations. It was that force that all of Dornkirk's musings appealed to, and for the first time in months he felt more certain that he was doing the right thing by aligning himself with the empire. The time was drawing near when all the suffering he had experienced would never visit another living inhabitant of Gaea. They were out to change the world for the better, and they were going to succeed.   
  
  
  
Ollen70: I may edit this at a future date and add a little more onto the last few paragraphs, because I'm aware that I sort of blow through the whole Red Fate episode. I haven't actually seen it before, so I did my best off of the summaries I found online.  
  



	14. So very far away

Ollen70: So, here it is. That's really all I have to say, except that I hope to get the next chapter done a little faster, and I'm sorry that it's taken so long. But then, I always say that.   
  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. *sigh*  
  
  
To Atari - Actually, all of the dialogue - with a few exceptions - is straight off the anime. Of course, I'm realizing now as I write this that I only saw the dubbed version. The dubbed, *censored* version, to be very specific. (Hmm...) At the time, I thought it was a little strange myself, but I wanted to be as thorough there as I could. The Secret of Evermore is a fairly corny role playing game. I was kind of stunned when I was playing through it and stumbled on that bit of dialogue, so I decided I'd borrow it.   
  
Again, I really have to say thank you one more time to you and Myst Lady for all of your wonderful (and long ) reviews. =) I think the two of you are actually the only people reading this, so I figure I oughta let you know just how much I appreciate you. =) You're quite possibly my favorite people, just so you know.  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen - - So very far away  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
But we carry on our backs from birth what time always reveals - In the lonely light of morning, in the wound that would not heal, there's the bitter taste of losing everything I've held so dear... - - Sarah McLachlan, Fallen  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
Sleep surrendered him very reluctantly, giving away only very slightly around the edges of his consciousness. He knew that he wasn't asleep any longer, but at that moment he only vaguely knew his own name or where he was. Sooner or later the sense of urgency, of needing to be somewhere, of having some task to accomplish would come through with a vengeance, but right now he could roll over on his side and enjoy that wonderful feeling of not-quite-pain when all the bones in one's back settle again into the new position. With a sigh, he lay there for quite some time in the void between realities.   
  
Descend and forget, the bed told him. Don't worry about this life or the next or any other concern that might come your way. Those things are far from here, and they can wait. But the more methodical part of him argued cajolingly, explaining that today is today and now is now, and those things never wait for anyone. Wake and deal with your life while you can, lest it move on without you.  
  
Folken had almost been convinced, until the voice inside of him had spoken that last part. His life had moved on without him ten years ago. He'd long since given up trying to catch it again, knowing that the best he could ever do was imagine what his life should have been. He was trapped, watching events unfold from a distance like a player reciting his lines. He was a harlequin and little more than that, painted with his tears rather than being able to show them of his own accord.  
  
  
When the day could no longer be ignored, he rose and dressed with the same practiced efficiency he used in everything he did. Today was today, after all. Whether or not he felt like an active participant in it, he was expected to be present nonetheless. He strode down the corridors without thought, entering the quiet of the command deck at his leisure.  
  
There were some slight bright spots in the morning, after all. Dilandau, for one, was gone from the Vione and would not be coming back. Folken spared him a small moment of pity when he thought back over what had befallen the captain in the past week, which inevitably turned to concern at the thought of his brother.  
  
Dilandau had finally gotten what he wanted, facing Van with all of his dragon slayers while the young king was barely able to stand from his fatigue following the battle at Fortuna. Hopelessly outnumbered, the new state of his guymelef shouldn't have been an issue - Dilandau should have slaughtered him outright, having the advantage in all respects. But something was wrong. Without ally or parley, Van was many times more than a match for the slayers. In a matter of minutes, only Dilandau had been left alive, listening in horror to the screams of his dying companions. Folken had watched the battle through Dilandau's headset and been mortified at the fire and the blood, and the look he saw in his brother's eyes through the grill of the Escaflowne's helmet.   
  
No mercy, no pity, no fear, no disgust, no anger, even. Only... resignation? He'd stared in utter shock long after Van was gone, until Eriya came and led him, still in a state of disbelief, into his chambers. The next morning it was still difficult for him to grasp how haggard his younger brother had become in less than one month.   
  
And it all started with me.' Folken thought, his throat tightening again. Everything unfortunate that's happened to him has happened at my hands, or because of me in one way or another.' And underneath the shock, the next truth waited patiently for him to find it. This wasn't over yet - by the end of it all, his conscience might be much heavier than it was, which was a concept that was almost beyond him.  
  
Following what he'd taken to calling the slayer incident,' the Crusade had made it back through the Nortra quadrant in a rather surprising twist, headed into one of the more forbidding areas of Gaea - the bleak, darkened continent known as Asguld. Since the slayers had so horribly failed in stopping them, Folken found himself with fewer and fewer options each day. If Dornkirk's musings were correct, then the Asturian ship was making for a place known half-reverently as the mystic valley. The name must have come, Folken idly supposed, from the rumored connections the bleak valley apparently shared with the mystic moon. From the way Dornkirk spoke of it in their short conversation, it almost sounded as if he'd been there before, but as far as that was concerned, Folken didn't push his luck by asking. The Emperor's patience was thinner every day.   
  
They are heading for the Mystic Valley. He'd informed Folken flatly.   
  
You mean the one of legend? Folken had been surprised when he'd first heard, but said nothing else after Dornkirk gave him a rather forbidding glance.  
  
Yes... the capital of Atlantis... it appears that they've found it... While his face remained relatively stoic, the elderly man's voice had adopted an almost dreamy quality for a fraction of a second. Find them, Folken. Was all he'd said after that, eyes set grimly. No more mistakes. No more delays. Find them, and bring them to me. And that was that. Whatever mitigating visions Dornkirk had seen, Folken safely assumed that they hadn't been wanted or appreciated. Things were very quickly getting out of hand, which was why he'd sent the last available resource, the two for whom he cared the most - next to Van - to accomplish this goal. Naria and Eriya would not fail, and they, unlike Dilandau, knew and were considerate of his relationship with Van. They would not harm or threaten him, nor were they interested in revenge. They would simply do what they deemed necessary and nothing more, and he found that he trusted their judgment.  
  
With the two of them gone, however, he realized that all of the people left in the world that he cared for would soon be engaging one another. It was all too likely that, once again, something would befall one of them and he would be made into a lair - not for the first time. He'd promised all three of them that he'd never let anything happen to them, and Van obviously had the greatest claim on that promise. Still, the two leopard twins were easily closer to him than any other member of his family, even when his mother and father had been alive.  
  
During the months when the girls had been away for their training, Folken had felt very much alone. Now without even Zongi for company, it felt very much like the last ounce of security he'd been able to grip since his coming to Zaibach was about to be ripped from his grasp.  
  
The first encounter between Naria, Eriya, and Van left everyone frustrated, to say the very least. After he'd heard the details and learned that it had been Merle's interference that had dissuaded the two twins from capturing his brother, Folken would have been lying had he said that he didn't understand their motivation for standing down. Merle most certainly would have reminded them of themselves at that age, ten years ago, wondering where they might be without each other. It had definitely shaken them, but all was not lost. Folken calmly ordered the helmsman of the Vione to alter his course - Van was not the only one who would travel to Asguld.  
  
Being of such great size, many believed that the floating fortresses of Zaibach could only travel very slowly - that was a myth that Zaibach was happy to propagate, because it meant that their enemies would grossly underestimate their mobility. In actuality, since the great slabs of stone that hung like stalactites under the metallic turrets and core buildings produced amounts of lighter-than-air noble gas depending on how much heat they were introduced to, the weight (and therefore speed) of a fortress depended solely on how many energists were available to it. Having been supplied with a great many just before the destruction of the mines west of Asturia, the Vione would likely reach Asguld before the Crusade.   
  
Folken stood anxiously in the control room, awaiting their arrival. He would see Van again and one way or another, this entire debacle would come to an end. Both of them needed some kind of closure and it was going to come. Folken assured himself of that. No longer would they play these games back and forth. The destiny device was going to be completed and fate delivered into the hands of every individual. Nothing would stop it.   
  
Even now, the view-screen showed the darkened, snow-laden landscape of Asguld, as bleak as a place could be. There were no trees or any sign that there ever had been - just rocks and snow. When the Vione had opened its lower ports and dispatched the many air anchors that kept it stable when it wasn't in flight, Folken lifted the receiver on the communications console.  
  
Are you in place? He asked, his voice betraying nothing of his anxiety. Naria and Eriya had to have been by now. The question was a formality and nothing more. They were far too thorough not to have been, not to mention how heated they were over the fact that they'd turned away from a battle not long ago. Folken hadn't reprimanded or even mentioned those events mainly because he didn't have to. There was no way his twins would let him down again if it lay in their power to succeed. It was comforting for Folken to be aware of that, but he didn't put too much faith in it. After all, Zongi and Dilandau had both been every bit as driven, yet he preferred to think of their respective fates as little as possible. He knew once more that there was a very real chance either Van, Naria, or Eriya would die this day.  
  
Everything is as it should be, Lord Folken. The title of Lord' was easily as uncomfortable coming from them as it had been from Zongi, if not somewhat more so. He was their friend and their protector, but Lord? That was a word that should be reserved for someone more deserving of the majesty and the dignity it brought with it. Folken had long ago left those things behind somewhere in the darkness after Delleva had first come to him.   
  
He said, faintly distracted by these thoughts. And at that the Crusade appeared once more, as expected. There was no time for him to do anything but plea silently to the higher power that this encounter wouldn't take away anyone else from him. He was using them, clinging to them, but he needed each of them, loving them inwardly with all of his being.  
  
  
All at once, every person on the command level started shouting at at the same time, each taking readings in a state of frenzy because of the massive... thing... that had opened in the sky for no real reason. The golden and blue portal that was the entrance to the forbidden ruins of Atlantis and the seat of it's legendary power opened, and as quickly as it had arrived, the crusade was gone. Just gone. Folken stared at the portal for a moment, not knowing what to do or say, yet fully aware of all the eyes that were on him. He had known the truth of the mystic valley for some time, but never expected anything like this to wait here for them all.   
  
There was nothing else to do, he said ruefully to the twins over his link, but to return to the Vione and try again. Failure stood adamantly in the way of success once more, but the two leopards didn't do as Folken had ordered.   
  
Wanna give it a try? Was all he could make out from over the transmitter. That was really all he'd needed to hear to know exactly what they were planning.   
  
Stop, both of you! It's too dangerous! Suddenly he was desperate. If they went, they would die. Their blind faith in themselves would be the end of them when they faced Van.   
  
Don't worry. Came the arrogant reply. We're always VERY lucky. There was an undercurrent in the statement that he didn't bother to analyze too closely. Rather, he focused on the statement in and of itself. Of course Naria and Eriya were lucky, It was one of the reasons Dornkirk was so proud of them - but they were making one grievous mistake in assuming that luck alone could carry them. Folken and destiny, or luck, or fate, were now very established enemies. It would strike at him in any way that it could, especially at the cost of his loved ones, as time had so clearly shown him. He had to be careful or he might lose everything that remained to him.   
  
We'll bring back your little brother to you. With that, they disappeared from all the sensors and the other tracking machinery on the Vione. Folken was alone now, in a state of panic. Unless what they said was truer than either of them could have known, all that Folken feared most would soon come to pass. They were gone, and there was absolutely nothing he could do, save to wait and to hope.  
  
  
  
Ollen70: Not as long as I'd like, and maybe not as depressing as I was expecting it to be after all. I've been insanely busy here lately, so if this seems incredibly fragmented, that's because it is. I wrote a paragraph here and there and just hoped that it might fit with everything else. If you spot any errors, repetitions or leaps in logic, please let me know.   



	15. These things we hold closest

Ollen70: Here it it at last. Sorry for the wait.   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Visions of Escaflowne or the characters therein. *sigh*  
  
  
Chapter Fifteen - - These things we hold closest  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe - -  
all were for me in the kiss of one girl. Robert Browning  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
What it was that had happened in the dark void past the golden gate to the mystic valley, Folken couldn't have said. He could hear small bits of the conversations between Naria and Eriya, but it was so intermixed with static that it was unintelligible. All he could discern was that whatever was happening, it was not at all good.   
  
Great cracks were starting to appear around the rim of the golden portal, while the light it housed was starting to flicker and pulsate, beating in distress like a heart in panic. The two tiering guymelefs he'd designed for the leopard twins exited, but he had no time to feel relief for that. As soon as they were clear of the portal, it shattered.   
  
  
The hours it took to repair the Vione passed all in a moment for Folken. Somehow Naria and Eriya had survived the fall of the mystic valley with no injuries, but the greatest sense of abatement came when one of the sorcerers contacted him not thirty minutes later. The short, thickset man peered from the view screen, eyes impossibly wide.   
  
He said in a stretched and breathless voice, We've captured the dragon.  
  
Folken started, unable to form any other thoughts or to even finish  
the sentence. The man wouldn't have let him anyway, he soon realized.  
  
We don't know, really. It appeared here in the light, along with the girl, the prince, and the knight of Asturia. In a matter of moments, we'll begin dismantling the guymelef. The Vione is to be called back to the Fried, for it seems the Destiny Prognostication Device will be active by the setting of the sun. All our efforts have paid off, my lord. It's finally happening.  
  
The man deactivated the screen then, which was just as well. Folken's reaction wouldn't have been what the other sorcerer would have expected anyway. If the destiny machine was ready, that was good, but it paled in comparison to this other revelation he'd come by inadvertently. Van was alive.   
  
Heading through the dark veins of the fortress, he smiled wryly to himself. Van would not stay in the hands of the sorcerers for long. They may believe that he was under control, but they would be taken by surprise again. Even Dornkirk was underestimating the young king now, if he thought that Van would sit idly by and let them dismantle the Escaflowne. There was some connection between Van and the Draconians and the Escaflowne, and if they were not very, very careful from here on out, that connection could easily become the undoing of the Zaibach empire.  
  
Not two days afterward, when everything Folken assumed had come to pass, the young sorcerer made for the higher reaches of the fortress. It was an important moment, now that he'd received an extensive briefing from the Emperor, and his spirits were high. He had an opportunity to fulfill his task at last, and all the while keep Van, Naria, and Eriya totally out of harm's way.  
  
On the conference floor of the Vione, Folken soon found himself before General Adelfous, the hated Iron general, and the Platinum general, who cast Folken a friendly glance despite the air of seriousness all around them. The screen in the room displayed the Escaflowne and the strange girl that Folken had now grown very wary of. In her hands was an odd trinket, a pendant with a small, reddish stone that glittered even in the rendering of the screen. The picture was shown several times before Adelfous rose, every inch the authority in the chamber.  
  
"Folken, did you know of this? Did you know that the dragon would be our greatest obstacle in the path of Zaibach's unification? Did you?" He didn't wait for an answer, nor did he pay any mind to Folken's expression of disdain. "Emperor Dornkirk's destiny machine has spoken. The dragons will gather and descend upon us." The destiny screen muted and changed, revealing hundreds of guymelefs that looked identical to the Escaflowne. Green shafts of light soared from the energists on their shoulders. Their targets were the fleets of Zaibach and the floating fortresses, which stood no chance against the coming dragons.   
  
Emperor Dornkirk's vision still gives us time to act. Folken said, eliciting the attention of all three men at once. It has been proven time and again that the dragon cannot be captured by any means that we posses. Giving them a moment to process his words, he drummed his metal fingers idly on the table, enjoying the Iron general's obvious discomfort at the sound.   
  
So then, he finished at last, Our only course of action would be to separate the dragon and the girl. If they are a part, neither will be a threat to us.  
  
Are you sure that you are skilled enough to do what none of us have been able to, lad? It was the Iron general who'd said it. The animosity between them had by no means died away in ten years, and it must have worn on the older general to know that the man he hated was now his superior. In fact, Folken sometimes took pains to remind him of that.   
  
Indeed I do, general. Now that we know the connection between the girl and the guymelef, success is within our reach.  
  
Adelfous gave them both dark looks before he made his way to the door.   
  
For all our sakes, I hope so.   
  
* * * * *  
  
Are you ready?  
  
Yes, Lord Folken.   
  
Folken took the leopard girl in his arms, smiling benevolently down on them. The destiny device in Dornkirk's lab hummed almost pleasantly beneath their feet as they drew even closer together, surrounded by a faint light from the metal dias they stood on.   
  
Eriya's eyes were brighter than Folken could remember them being as she looked up at him, a smile of her own forming.  
  
T-minus thirty seconds to activation of the fate accelerator. A voice called from a console nearby. Folken nodded dimly, anxious for these things to be underway.  
  
The stage is set. The cast assembled. Now's the time to change the vector of her heart. Commence alteration.   
  
Altering fate. The voice echoed eerily through the room, rebounding off the walls and growing stronger for a moment before receding again. The light grew stronger and Folken stepped back for a moment.  
  
Remember, focus on nothing but me. He said, his own thoughts totally fixed on the young girl before him. He stretched out his hands, watching as she took them in her own.  
  
He said at last.  
  
Was her reply, and he noticed that for a fleeting instant, there was something else in her eyes that largely resembled pain.  
  
Target value's been reached. The voice called.   
  
Folken said again, drawing Eriya back into his arms.   
  
Come! Show me! This voice belonged to Dornkirk, his eyes fixed on the destiny screen. Show me the gravity of fate that draws one to another! Show me the fate, the principles and the precepts that so govern the choices of this world! Show me what I seek!  
  
For a brief moment, the light began to waver and fade, and at once Folken brought Eriya far enough away that he could gaze down at her again.  
  
Release your mind of all worldly thought, Eriya. He told her, with the sinking feeling that he knew exactly what worldly thoughts bound her.  
  
But Lord Folken...  
  
Think only of me, with all your heart. I know you can do it.  
  
Lord Folken. This time, her words held no plea nor excuse. Her thoughts were on him, as fully and absolutely as they could ever be. Strange as it was, he suddenly found that he had to fight not to think of Delleva.  
  
Fate accelerator's particles have reached critical. Now uniting elements. The voice was tinged with excitement.  
  
He whispered plaintively.  
  
Came her response, and their lips drew closer together. When they met, Folken felt it all the way through his body, felt Eriya, but thought of *her*. And, what was worse, he didn't know why. He heard Dornkirk say something, but it wasn't important to him just then. All that mattered was this closeness that he knew he had to make himself understand now, or it would be gone and he wouldn't ever be able to retrieve it.   
  
Far away, deep inside of him, he admitted to himself that he'd just destroyed his brother's one chance at happiness. Maybe, the forefront of his mind replied coolly, but at least he's alive. That was more than what he would have if he were happy.  
  
  
Leaving the sparring room of the Vione, Folken prepared himself for the final stage of the mission. He'd done all he could, given Naria and Eriya every edge that was scientifically or existentially possible, and now, ironically, all he could do was trust fate. The twins were in the process of receiving enhanced fortune blood, an innovation created by the biological knowledge of the other sorcerers, Folken's mechanical prowess, and Dornkirk's genius regarding the gravity of fate. Every other experiment, including Dilandau's creation, the destiny prognostication device and the conception of the guymelefs had in some way contributed to the process the two girls now underwent, though when Folken had first explained the procedure to them, they hadn't been particularly interested.  
  
Not that he could necessarily blame them. He didn't deign to stay and watch the transfusions because they reminded him heavily of the similar tubes that had been run into his own flesh after the loss of his arm, and those were memories he relived often enough in the nights.   
  
After their new blood was in place, the twins would be unstoppable. The girl would be in their custody, the destiny device would be activated, and the fate of the world would change. Returning to his quarters, Folken stopped for a moment and looked toward the rising sun. Once more, the future lay before him, separated from him by nothing other than time. All he could do was wait.   
  
  
Ollen70: Yes, this took longer than I'd planned, and I don't think it turned out as well as I'd wanted it to. I'm so bogged down with my class schedule that I haven't even had time to proofread this, so - like always - if you find any horrible errors, feel free to let me know. I'd really appreciate it. Also, I've been spending some time on one of my other fics, Eye of the Beholder, just for a little change of pace. I'm having to rely so much on the episode summaries now that it takes me quite a while to write each chapter, and I feel like they aren't as good as they were when I started out. Oh well. I hope to be done by the end of the month, but I think I said that last month too. Thanks for putting up with me, and thanks again to my reviewers, who give my life purpose. =)


	16. Broken promises

Disclaimer: Visions of Escaflowne is not owned by me, and no money is being made from this story. Nothing ever changes. If you were expecting something wittier or more original in this disclaimer, you'll have to wait for the next chapter. I'm too tired to be witty.  
  
  
Chapter Sixteen - - Broken promises  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
And likewise death will drive us from the scene  
With the great flowering world unbroken yet,  
Which we held in idea, a little handful.   
- - Richard Everhart, The Horse Chestnut Tree  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
He looked upon this final loss with a more analytical perspective than he would have thought himself capable of. Around him, the deep scent of the earth made this broken place seem far older than it was - ancient and forgotten, though they had been uninhabited for less than a year. By now, he had developed some sort of depraved alliance with loss. Or a truce, more like. They respected and were familiar with one another, even if their shared animosity was great. It was patient with him, as he was with it, and allowed him to fall back into the memories of of the past without devaluing them through petty catharsis. He could reflect and revere his memories, for this moment, with the proper dignity they deserved. But soon, Loss promised, their truce would end.  
  
  
Everyone, even Folken, had been surprised at the dramatic results of Naria and Eriya's fortune enhancements. At first Folken hadn't been exactly sure what to expect from such a thing, especially since it had been a new, untested procedure when it had been performed. Folken had taken precautions to ensure that the transfusions would be as safe as possible, but other than determining that the process would not change the Rh factor of the new blood and cause it to clot or behave strangely once it was reintroduced into the girls' bodies, there was little anyone could actually be sure of.  
  
It seemed that the safety measures had been successful. The fortune enhancements were working well enough, turning negative fates outward and keeping the twins totally protected. Any sort of action from others that might produce an ill fate were stopped or reflected back into the surrounding environment.  
  
The golden knight of Asturia hadn't even been able to activate his guymelef, which was a relief. No one knew exactly how he and the other two had managed to escape from the Imperial fortress of Zaibach, but it was safe to assume that whatever power that gilded Van's fortune worked equally well on Allen whenever he was near the young king. If Allen was feeling the effects of a darker fortune, Van likely would be as well.  
  
That had been proven quite true, as the battle progressed. The Escaflowne didn't have the power to stand against the distortions in fate that the two were able to instill. The scene of Asturia, where the marriage of Dryden and the youngest daughter of King Aston was set to take place was thrown into utter disarray by their arrival. The presence of the civilians made the situation even more advantageous for the twins, namely because those who opposed them were forced to be far more cautious.  
  
Folken had watched the situation below him with more than simple interest. This matter was bigger than win or loss; bigger to him, in fact, than the success of his mission or the manipulation of destiny. Again, he was faced with a dilemma. In the end, would it be his brother or the twins who fell? The twins were protected and it had not been their objective to harm Van, but these things were rarely so uncomplicated. While both girls knew what Van meant to Folken, they had a task to complete. If Van crossed them, he was nothing more than an enemy - and in their victorious euphoria brought on by the fortune blood, it might be difficult for them to remember what he was.   
  
He could lose Van now, just like before. The danger for him was just as real as it had ever been. Why Folken didn't feel more panic, he really couldn't say. Perhaps, he thought quietly, he'd felt it so often that he was now used to it. Even if Naria and Eriya were so much stronger than Van, this situation was certainly no more dark than it had been when Dilandau had been out for vengeance.   
  
  
Within minutes of the ensuing conflict, the twins had easily taken total control of the situation.   
  
We're ready, Lord Folken! Naria's proud cry broke him out of his reverie. Turning to the receiver, he adjusted the speaker so that the announcement would be broadcast to the huddled masses below the Vionne.  
  
We are the Intensified Luck Soldiers of Zaibach. Give us the girl known as Hitomi Kanzaki and no one else will be harmed. It was happening. He would take the girl and nothing Van could do would stop him. Once Hitomi was theirs, fate would fall away.  
  
  
Only it hadn't happened. Leaning up against what was once the garden wall, Folken was still at a loss as to what had gone wrong.   
  
The destiny machine, in the middle of a highly advanced prognostication, suddenly stopped transmitting. As all the instruments around him shut down and the sinking whir of dying machinery filled the room, Folken broke into a run for the nearest diagnostic station.  
  
What happened?! Folken cried, bile welling up in his throat. No matter what was supposed to have taken place, Folken could feel the darkness clouding him and he knew without having to question fate that all of his worst fears would come true this day.  
  
It seems there is something wrong with the luck intensification. We can't control the fluctuation... The man spoke with an unconcerned air, trained like all soldiers to be calm in the face of an emergency. Folken was far from calm, and didn't care if it showed. Looking up into the last functioning screen, he was still able to watch what was taking place on the ground. Though power was still being redirected from the engine cores in the heart of the fortress, the momentary black-out had obviously had detrimental effects on everything.  
  
Somehow, though the Vione had been eclipsing the sun only moments earlier, it had shifted enough that sunlight was allowed past it, and the bright, exposing glow had violently effected the young girls. All at once the power that had been filling them was totally gone, not even a trace of it lingering in or around them or their guymelefs.  
  
Get them out of there! When no one moved, he raised his metal fist and slammed it into the bulk head nearest to him, the sound ringing like a great bell of doom through the chatter and the shrilling of the Vione's now-functioning alarms. Pull them out! NOW!!  
  
One of the soldiers rushed to the transmitter, but Folken didn't hear what he said. Trusting that the command would be carried out, he returned to an instrument panel and began manually over-riding as many of the burned out systems that he could. The damage wasn't as severe as he'd feared, but the flashback surge from the interruption of the destiny device over their transmitters had caused most of the critical systems to overcompensate, freezing everything until the overloads could be taken care of. It was fortunate that turbines, heaters, and stabilization engines for the fortress were powered by different energy cores than the control systems, a design feature that had been incorporated in case of such an emergency.  
  
  
Eriya lay in his bed, her eyes closed. Folken sat nearby, glad that they were   
alone. There was no one else he trusted to be at her bedside, and he suddenly felt the urge to strike himself when he thought of how he left the two girls alone during the moment of their augmentation.   
  
I never should have brought them into this war,' he thought. When men fight fate, everyone is doomed to suffer.' And suffer they would have, if Dornkirk could have had his way.   
  
  
Folken! Why did you order them to withdraw?! The angered man had shouted when the connection between the Zaibach capital and the Vione had been re-established. Why did you disobey me? You knew the potential price of their mission today! You knew, better than anyone, how much hangs on our success! If we cannot separate the girl and the dragon...  
  
I'm sorry, Majesty. But had they remained, their lives would have been lost. Something went wrong... they wouldn't have been a match for the dragon, or even for the knight of Caelli. They would have died. Folken hated the way Dornkirk closed his eyes, apparently to shut out the words that he didn't want to hear.  
  
What must be, must be. It is for our ideal future.  
  
  
Eriya came around, surely enough, but since nothing that day had happened with deftness or certainty to reassure him, he wasn't inclined to believe that the situation was done getting worse. Naria was still gone, stranded somewhere without any strength left. It was very possible that she was actually dead, since the view screen had shown all too clearly the burning wreckage of her tiering guymelef when she and Eriya had sought to return to the fortress. Folken, of course, knew that it was perfectly reasonable of him to assume that she might have escaped relatively unharmed. The girl from the mystic moon was no where to be seen in city, and their instruments hadn't picked up her signal yet. If she was missing, the most likely explanation was that Naria was with her.  
  
Though the cloaking system that kept the Vione hidden from plain sight - a larger and much more intricate version of the stealth cloaks - was operational again, the long-range visual equipment was still down. Dornkirk would contact them as soon as he had spotted what they sought, and the entire garrison would set out to find both Naria and the girl with all haste.   
  
  
The time came, of course, well before Folken was ready for it. That in itself was unusual. Folken had become used to the agonizing wait that destiny always inevitably put him through. He was taken by surprise, pulled into a new, crueler game that destiny had decided to play with him.  
  
Folken, we've found the girl. Naria is with her, and they both must be   
retrieved. Dispatch the remaining Intensified Luck Soldier at once.  
  
Folken had been incensed, and had no qualms in explaining it to the Emperor. Eriya was still exhausted, he'd said. Her power wasn't completely restored and, what was worse, they still weren't sure what had caused it to leave her in the first place. It was all too obvious to him that Hitomi was somehow connected, but he didn't bother to say so.   
  
I'm ready, Lord Folken. It was Eriya behind him, her face flushed from something other than fatigue. Her eyes were strange to him, bearing an emotion he was unaccustomed to viewing in her. I can take care of this situation. Before he could even speak, she was gone. For a while he stood still, watching the portal she'd exited through, wondering why she hadn't bothered to mask her anger and if it had been meant solely for him.  
  
Retiring to his chamber, he hunched dumbly in a cold corner, not bothering to light a lamp. Enough light came from the hallway beyond, at least for his purposes. Pulling off the jacket of his Imperial uniform, he allowed the familiar tension to build and grow across his back, spreading like blood in water until it pushed, an extra sensation causing him to intake his breath very suddenly. It was rare for him to expose his wings; it was almost never called for and it certainly wasn't something he did trivially, but it had never caused him pain before. He turned to face the full-length mirror beside his bed, he steeled himself for what he knew he'd find there, waiting for him in the shadowed pane of glass. Both wings were so black that their outline stood out starkly against the darkness of everything else. Tampering with destiny had finally caught up with him.  
  
  
It wasn't done catching up with him, he quickly learned. Or maybe Van's arrival had more to do with the past than with destiny itself, but it all served a very similar end. How Van had come and why the fortress hadn't detected him before the enraged king had planted the Escaflowne's blade deep into the Vione's hull, Folken didn't know. At the time, he hadn't particularly cared. Van had come to kill him.   
  
Facing Van, coming slowly out of the smoke and the billowing sparks from hundreds of desiccated control panels, Folken spoke directly to his brother. Why don't you understand that the creation of our new world is almost at hand? This is the final battle... why can't you see that, Van? It was easy to keep all anger out of his voice. There was none left within him to draw on. As deep as he looked inside of himself, all he could see was the blackened cold of resignation, tempered by sorrow. He had lied to his brother again - this was not the final battle. Their battle had not yet begun and would not be fought here.   
  
When Eriya came, she and Van had fought. She threw accusing comments at the younger boy and in the end, somehow cast him free of the already-dying Vione. Her words would have been pertinent, had he found the strength to focus on them. In all of one moment, the two girls lay dying in his arms and, to his horror, he found that he had nothing left to feel. All of the pain, all of the terror, all of the loss and sacrifice and the hatred...  
  
Dornkirk's voice was all but lost by the roars of the fortress as it was devoured by the ocean. Folken, the Destiny machine's malfunction was based on a reaction not of fortune, but of misfortune! Our calculations, no matter how precise, failed to take into account the most simple laws of thermodynamics. But our plans...  
The chances are not lost... Folken hadn't raised his head then.  
  
Your majesty... The sound was weak, pitifully echoing in and around the eruptions. Your majesty... you were wrong.  
  
The emperor gasped.   
  
Standing in the old court of Fanelia, he traced the tear on his cheek with his metal finger, wishing it could be real. Naria and Eriya had deserved real tears, just as they had deserved more love than he had shown them. But the truth was, in the end, love was something he'd forgotten. Like his dignity and his strength, they were traits that belonged in someone more noble than him, more noble than the cause he'd wasted ten years of his life fighting for. When it came to him, all of the old pain was welcomed.  
  
Pain was real and it was reality, not fallacy, that he longed for most of all. Let the world come, with its swords and its lies. Let it break him and leave him in his blood, just as long as it remembered that he was alive.  
  
There would be more promises, he knew, and they would be broken just as irreverently as before. It wouldn't be done intentionally, of course, but he knew that it would happen and couldn't fathom how it could be avoided. There would be death and hardship and loss, like before. The promises of life would be broken with an utter heartlessness that would leave him wondering why mortals could spend so many centuries existing and still not understand just what existence was. And somehow, he had to learn to accept that instead of letting it draw him in and break him.  
  
He wondered as he stood if anyone else in the world ever had those thoughts. They must, he decided. It was selfish of him to think that he was alone in feeling pain when so much of life centered around it. But he didn't mind feeling selfish just then.  
  
The battle with Van would start soon because it was destined to, ending only one of two ways. Either Van would kill him or Van would not; Fate would have it's way without a struggle. Leaning back against the wall, Folken's eyes closed gratefully. In the meantime, it was still his fate to linger.  
  
  
  
Ollen70: This is a fragmented, garbled mess. I hope you're able to get something out of this chapter, because I was trying to be inventive and unique with some of my wording and the overall flow of time, but I think I just ended up falling on my face in the attempt. As always, feedback is appreciated.   



	17. Brother's keeper

Ollen70: Hurrah! It's done! Well, this chapter, at least. There's one more coming after this.   
  
To Rai Dorian: I can't even explain how insanely happy I was when I saw all of your reviews in my e-mail inbox. I wanted to dance and sing. And I did for awhile, until my roommate started throwing stuff at me. I'm really glad to hear that you like this. Thank you thank you thank you for taking the time to review so much of what I've done.  
  
To Atari: What can I say? If it weren't for you, I don't think I would have kept this up for so long. Thanks again for all your support, and I hope that you're feeling better. =)  
  
  
Disclaimer: Standard applies. Seventeen chapters are too many for me to try to be inventive with the disclaimer any longer. Sorry.  
  
  
  
Chapter Seventeen - - Brother's keeper  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
But the tender grace of a day that is dead  
Will never come back to me.  
- - Alfred Lord Tennyson  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
Do you think he'll come? The dog-man Rum asked quietly. Even quiet words were amplified in this cemetery for memories.   
  
Of course he'll come. It's Van, remember? He hates me so much that he can't help himself.' He saw no reason to add that last part in, so he leaned back against the stone he was seated on and stared up at the sky. He whistled idly, the old tune comforting to him. It was a fitting elegy for the dead kingdom, and he let it soar around him even though he knew it's sound was probably unsettling to Rum.   
  
There he is.   
  
It's about time. Folken replied evenly, on his feet at once. He scoffed as the gray guymelef circled the grounds twice before landing not twenty meters away.   
  
What, did you expect him to take you at your word? Rum's little laugh was genuine, not meant to be cruel. Forgive me for saying so, but you aren't what many people would call a credible source nowadays. There's no reason to be surprised that he doesn't trust you.  
  
I'd be more worried if he did. Hello, brother. Van wasn't close enough to hear, so Folken let himself take in the sight of the young girl who clung to him. Her short hair and garb were both unusual, lending an exotic air to her.   
  
Quite the unknown element.' He thought, eyes more on the way she held onto Van than her features. How amusing.' Apparently, their interference with the fates of the two had totally failed at last, as they had expected from their readings. A pity that I didn't understand it all then.' Opposing Van at all had been a terrible mistake, as well as siding with the Empire. Van wouldn't care that it hadn't been Folken's choice. At any rate, Folken wasn't ready to convince himself that it *hadn't* been. Ten years was a long time, after all.  
  
Well, I think it's about time I take my leave of this little reunion. Rum nodded his farewell to both Folken and Van, sparing a small smile for Hitomi. If I were you, I'd stay out of this. He told her confidently, and then he was gone.   
  
Thank you, Rum. Folken murmured it quietly to the demi-human's shadow.   
  
Are you alone? Folken couldn't quite place Van's tone - there was bitterness and hostility and all of those other emotions that Folken was by now accustomed to, but there was also something different than before, as if Van were unduly worried about something that had little to do with the here and now.  
  
Do you think I'd lay a trap for my own brother? Folken asked, knowing full well that it was the first thing Van would expect. Leaping from the Escaflowne, Van freed his sword in one motion.   
  
Liar! Murderer! You're no brother of mine, you coward!  
  
  
  
And so Van was here at last. Folken tried to be surprised at the outright hatred that still spread like blood over the younger man's face, but couldn't. Reaching with his good hand for the hard metal of his fake limb, he found himself polishing it self-consciously with the hem of his cloak under Van's scrutiny.   
  
Today there will be a conclusion. He said quietly, the words sounding rehearsed in his own ears. In truth, they weren't. As long as he'd stood, waiting for Van in the crumbling remains of their home, nothing he'd considered saying sounded right. There had to be something... and yet, if words had meant little between them during their first encounter on the Vione, they were certainly, understandably worthless now.   
  
Today you will die, traitor! Van shrieked it, totally overcome by the emotions within him. Folken watched with masked sympathy as tears rolled down the young king's face. For everything you've done... all the people you've killed...! Don't try to tell me that you deserve better than that!  
  
  
  
Van's blade was upraised now, its point glittering in the filthy, unfeeling light of the afternoon. Fanelia will sleep more soundly when her streets have been repaid with your blood! You did this, Folken! You! No one else! Whatever it was that Folken had considered placating Van with, it withered on his lips at this horrible truth.   
  
It was then that the ground trembled and the crumbled walls listed drunkenly under the rise of a great dragon. Van began to back away, not realizing that it was useless. Another rose behind him and the girl.   
  
It was a trap! Folken knew that the younger boy was glaring at him, even though the body of the dragon kept him from seeing his brother. This way! We have to get out of here!  
  
Drop your sword, Van! Folken called. He'd hoped this wouldn't happen. Fighting solves nothing. He heard Van's cold laugh. He wasn't going to accept Folken's words any more than Folken himself would have, if their roles had been reversed.  
  
But there was still so much that Van didn't - wouldn't - know. So much that he couldn't possibly understand. And not even about the Fanelia of the past or Folken's motivations. If Van wasn't very careful now, he would find himself falling victim to the very things that had stolen away Folken's innocence and begun his future in the first place.  
  
  
  
That was wrong, Folken. Van's voice echoed through his memory. He remembered Van as a child, listening to Folken as he read a story from a heavy leather tome about the glorified history of Fanelia and the majestic Samurai overcoming the dragons of the forests. It's wrong to kill a dragon, when they haven't done anything to you. Why do people have to hurt things?   
  
That simple statement had left Folken as speechless then as it did now. In the end, though, there was one simple fact that Van had overlooked. Folken, for all his sins, had not killed the dragon. He had tried, and he had felt the sting of regret and not a little fear when the time had come for him to do the deed. Folken didn't fool himself; his hands were far from clean, but he had never taken a life directly before. His sins lay in corruption, in tainting others and pulling them in just the way he himself had been consumed.   
  
  
  
Van had killed the dragon. Van had slain the obstacles in his path, becoming stronger but forgetting that piece of wisdom that he'd held so dear as a child. Sometimes the most dangerous, horrifying enemy before you means you no harm. Sometimes, if you stop yourself long enough, you can understand that fate doesn't hold you inexorably. Fate simply told the general tale of the future - Folken hadn't understood until now that the details of it were colored in by the actions of those who lived within its boundaries. Fate was not oppressive. On the contrary - it allowed for all possibility. It was men who told themselves what was and what was not possible.   
  
We shape our own fate, Van. He said, sharing the last part of his thoughts with his brother over the roar of the dragons. We are responsible for the actions that bring us to where we are, not anyone else! Never blame your anger on another man, nor your sorrow, nor even your hope. You control what you feel. You allow yourself to be swayed by anger, regardless of the situation!   
  
Not that I have the right to say such a thing.' He mentally admonished himself. His regrets, however, weren't important now. If he couldn't make Van understand him, the dragons would grow more agitated, provoked by the mounting rage.   
  
  
  
Van was losing. He couldn't hold off the dragons alone, though he'd thrust Hitomi from him and stood against one of the beasts on his own. Striding up behind the girl, he clapped his real hand over her mouth and held her still, closing his eyes. One of the dragons was near; he could feel it's breath, smell it's sulfurous fume. After a moment, its rasping grew fainter. Releasing his grip on the girl, he braced her when she fell to the ground.   
  
I want you to trust me. Was all he could think of to say. Her slight nod was all the confirmation he needed - she wouldn't run or resist him, and he needed her help if he was going to save Van.  
  
You hope to remake destiny, don't you? She asked him, her tone very direct. He paused a moment, looking her over before he answered.  
  
Dornkirk's aims were noble, but the methods of Zaibach are cruel. Yes, I hope to create a destiny of peace for Gaea, but I won't do it his way. He isn't my master any longer.  
  
This place deserves peace - but it isn't our business to manipulate it like that. It's... well, bad things happen... the ones you love, they suffer.  
  
Indeed they do.' He thought sadly. She must realize now that her wishes - or rather, her expectations - had been coming true, molding the destiny of the things around her. Folken still had no idea why or how it was happening, but it certainly explained why the empire had such trouble with her, especially when she was near the Escaflowne. Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him in a way that made him want to cover himself.  
  
You're like Naria, aren't you?  
  
He was barely able to repeat the name, the lump growing quickly in his throat.  
  
Not all of you is real. You've been broken... you've been made again, only it wasn't what you wanted... Her eyes were only half open now. A faint flicker emanated from the odd pendant around her neck, and Folken's teeth ached slightly, as they always did whenever he was too near Dornkirk's prognostication device.  
  
Who are you?  
  
Before she could respond, Van's cry caught both of their attention. Scrambling to a nearby rampart, he looked down on the scene before him and balked. Van was trapped, backed up against a stone wall by one of the dragons. It would kill him if it could not be swayed.   
  
What can we do? Folken...? He heard Hitomi's voice behind him and her exclamation as he tore off his tunic. Paying her no mind, he gritted his teeth and let the wings spring free of his flesh. There was only one thing he could do for his brother - only one way to avert the horrible fate he himself had suffered. He heard her gasp, presumably at the color of his feathers. He didn't blame her. In the afternoon they eschewed all color around them, looking even blacker than they were.   
  
Van, you have to trust me. He landed in front of the younger boy, using his body to shield him against the dragon. You have to let go of everything you've been holding onto - all the hate, all the regret and the blame - or neither of us will survive.  
  
And so do I.'  
  
It was just a murmur, so faint that he only barely heard it. For an eternity they just stood there, staring at the dragon while it watched them with an equal severity. It blinked once before vanishing back into the ground, no longer interested in them now that they weren't moving or responding to it.   
  
Even after it was gone, no one said anything. They still stood, looking at the ground or the breaking, blazing wreckage of Fanelia. It was Hitomi who finally ended the silence.   
  
Come on, Van. It's time to go.   
  
Watching them board the Escaflowne, Folken flexed his black wings and rose behind them, his way lit by fire as Fanelia burned again.   
  



	18. Flight of the damned

Ollen70: This was not in any stretch of the imagination what I'd planned for the ending to be like. Please let me know what you think of it, because, reviews pending, I might change a few things and re-post it. Other than that, all I have to say is thank you' from the bottom of my heart to all of the people who took the time and the effort to review it - Atari, Rai Dorian, and Myst Lady most notably. I wouldn't have done all of this if it weren't for you.   
  
Disclaimer: The premise of the Vision of Escaflowne is not my property. No money is being made from this story.   
  
(Hey, I figure that after screwing around with it for seventeen chapters, it wouldn't kill me to throw in a relatively serious disclaimer at the end.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Eighteen - - Flight of the damned  
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.  
- - Richard Wilbur - -  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
Standing by cautiously, Folken braced himself on the deck of a small skiff. It bobbed uncertainly on the surf, tossed lightly by the wind and the waves. Folken was never one for sea travel, and held tightly onto the ship's rail. He'd agreed to come with the salvage teams of Asturia, to see if anything might still be usable from the wreckage of the Vione. All in all, he had been disappointed by their findings thus far. He had hoped that at least some of the guymelef prototypes he'd been working on in the machine bays might be in workable condition, but the geko-manned submarines sent below had returned empty-handed, reporting that the entrances to the hangars had been sealed shut by the force of the blasts.  
  
Though the corrosive seawater had ruined most of the technology in other parts of the fortress, they were still able to get a hold of some workable scanning equipment. Whether it would be worth anything for the alliance effort, Folken couldn't honestly say.   
  
He stood still watching the other sailors as they worked, oblivious to his existence. How strange how quickly people accepted things,' he thought quietly. At first, no one in Asturia would even look at him, convinced by their own superstitions that something terrible might befall them if they did. He saved himself only by convincing the council that he meant no harm and would do whatever he could to aid in their efforts against Zaibach.   
  
Many of them had protested this hotly. His change of heart, they claimed, was far too sudden to be genuine or truly warranted. As much as he would have liked to, he found himself unable to protest. It did seem sudden, even to himself. Naturally he'd done it for Van and because there was no longer anyone in the empire that meant more to him.   
  
Is that all you are?' The thought upset him. Are you willing to trade sides as long as you keep the favor of your friends?' No, that wasn't true. For a time, he'd actually believed in Dornkirk and the necessity' of destiny manipulation. Delleva had certainly played a part in his decisions, as much or more than Dornkirk's threats against the demi-humans. He wasn't sure if what he was doing now could be called redemption or penance, but it was better than the alternative. People were going to die, as they always did when there was war, but it wouldn't be because of his ambitions. For once, he felt like his actions might really be noble, rather than mere volition in disguise.  
  
There would be no saving graces for him, though. Only hours before, a fortress had dropped it's stealth cloak over the city of Palas and ended an era of relative peace between Zaibach and Asturia. The war had begun, leaving him stranded between two nations. He was a traitor to Zaibach and a monster to the people of Asturia, and there was nothing he could do to alter either perception. In his mind, they were both very accurate.  
  
As soon as the ship returned to the ports, he retreated back down under the palace, into the labs he'd been afforded by the eldest daughter Eries Aston, current custodian of the throne until the rise of another king. It appeared these times were hard on all royalty, now that the merchant king Dryden had stepped down after his mere three days as ruler.   
  
He felt safer, now that he was below the surface and it's problems. No where was truly safe, as he was all too painfully aware, but it was comforting for him to return to the cold and the dark and pretend that none of the things that went on above him were his concern - or his fault.  
  
  
* * *  
  
When Hitomi came into the lab later that day, he didn't bother stopping the heavy sigh from falling off his lips. She wouldn't have come for no reason, but whatever it was that brought her here, it was unlikely that they'd get to it right away. Neither of them really knew how to relate to the other, so their conversations to this point had been very painfully clipped.   
  
She unsettled him, and it was a very safe assumption, given the way she balked whenever he looked at her, that the feeling was mutual. So they stood, each waiting for the other to do something, not wanting to be the first to stumble blindly into the next moment.   
  
Folken watched her carefully with a very unvirtuous patience, wanting to scream at her and yet not wanting to upset her or be unkind. She was only a girl, after all, too young to have been brought into this situation that was so obviously bigger than all of them.   
  
I...I want you to help him. He wasn't sure how long they'd both been standing there, but was still mildly surprised when she finally broke their by-now familiar silence.  
  
I will, if I can.  
  
No, I...I want you to help me to help him. He stared at her for a minute, not even vaguely understanding what she was asking. She looked back at him, her eyes revealing nothing even though she was flustered. I want you to help me make a pillar of light. I have to go to Zaibach. I have to stop all of this...  
  
He won't listen to you.  
  
Folken didn't want to have to tell her this, since it must have taken her a great deal of courage to come in the first place.  
  
Dornkirk won't care if he causes anyone pain. It won't matter to him what you say or what you do. In the end, your traveling there at all will only hurt Van.  
  
That doesn't matter. I have to try.  
  
And what will you try? She flinched at the harder current in his voice, but he didn't back down. He had to tell her this. Do you think you could kill the emperor, if it turned out to be necessary? Would you take another life if there was really no other way? He hadn't expected her to answer, and she didn't.   
  
The pillars of light seem to be some sort of culmination of fortune... He was ready for her look of surprise, smiling slightly in reply. She looked at him, her head to one side, but still said nothing. Nodding, he continued.  
  
When destiny, or desire, or whatever it is that drives the fates of men builds to a strong enough point, these disturbances appear and take you to the places that were foremost in your mind when the culmination started. At least, that's the only theory I've come up with so far.  
  
Why only me? Her face remained expressionless when she spoke at last.  
  
I don't think it is just you, to be honest. It seems to me that the pillars of light affect any who have a part in the altercation of destiny. I'm not certain what it is about you that lets you manipulate fate, but you've certainly played a large role in the interruption of destiny. His eyes lingered on that curious pendant at her throat. Dornkirk longs for your power. It will be dangerous for you.  
  
Again the silence set in, and Folken distracted himself by moving the vials of chemicals and various mechanical components he'd been given once he'd pledged his assistance to Asturia. There was one last thing he had to say, but he hadn't expected it to be so hard, or so poorly formed when it finally came from his mouth.  
  
It should be I who faces the emperor, not you or anyone else. I have business with him.  
  
Her eyes were wide once more, red staining her cheeks. They began to close just slightly and at the same time, he felt the ache in his teeth return. Only this time, when his own eyelids started to flicker, there were images behind them. A sword... a barrier... feathers... a pool of blood...  
  
You can't! You mustn't!   
  
Smiling at her again, Folken turned back to his work. For once, he planned to obey fate.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Hitomi came to him again, after the soldiers had left the fortress for the conflict with Zaibach. There would be an ending today, he was certain. One thing or another would end, and he was fairly confident that he knew what it would be.   
  
He told her very bluntly what he planned to do, how facing Dornkirk was his responsibility, but she was no more receptive to his reasons than she had been at their last encounter. She cried at first, begging him not to go without her. He'd shown her his wings then, explaining the fate he'd chosen to accept and wishing once more that he could feel more noble about it than he did.   
  
It was a selfish decision, when everything was said and done. There were no guarantees that anything could be resolved by his actions, but Zaibach called to him, offering the kind of peace he'd sought there ten years ago and failed to find. It waited there now, definite and unchanging, and he knew that he would go to it. Nothing she said could change the fact that he was dying anyway, his life shortened to the point where he could feel it by the fate altercation he'd undergone with Eriya.  
  
Flexing his wings was more painful than before, so much so that he had to bite back a cry when they emerged from his flesh. Hitomi tensed, bracing him with her own body, but he shook her off. The stiffness and the pain weren't confined to his wings anymore. He didn't have time to ponder it, either. Brushing her off, he turned to go at last.  
  
* * *  
  
What happened next was not clear to him, but he assumed his speculations of the concentration of fate were more-or-less accurate. Light collected around him and pulled him up, wrapping them both in an icy, exposing beam that left no sensation of comfort when it cleared.  
  
He was struck at once by the overpowering silence of the hall, so quiet that it felt as if it were holding its breath. The sounds of their boots echoed against the paneling of the floor, but that sound alone couldn't touch the quiet that was everywhere. Cold and dark and consuming, the hall was everything that he once was, and everything he'd tried so hard to turn away from. The only light in the room was just as cold as the pillar had been, and the single structure it illuminated was the great device that filled Folken with immediate dread. They were in the palace of the emperor once more, back in the very heart of Zaibach.   
  
They've come. The sound of the voice alone was enough to make him grit his teeth, drawing his blade almost at once. He whirled around, attempting in vain to find the origin of the voice. In the vastness of the room, it echoed and spun freely, but intuition benefited him where his senses failed. Eyes fixed on the balcony above him, Folken waited.  
  
Everything is now in place, ready for the final stage. Dornkirk materialized in the gloom when Folken's eyes adjusted to the paleness around him. The familiar odors of sulfur and oil still lingered here, the light distorted by the many metallic surfaces and objects nearby. All of the pieces are where I need them to be, all of the players having performed their parts to the highest level, even if they weren't fully aware of it at the time. He smiled darkly at the two of them.  
  
You mean... you wanted us to come? Hitomi's voice was very small, very far from reality. Her eyes were wide and Folken remembered that this wasn't the first time she'd faced the emperor. He'd never been told exactly what had taken place during their last meeting, but, judging from way she grimaced involuntarily, he felt safe in assuming that he hadn't impressed her.  
  
How long will you toy with fate, Majesty? How long will you break the things you do not understand, while men and women die?  
  
Foolish questions, Strategos. You already know the answers, because at one time our intentions were one.  
  
Our intentions were never one. Folken bit the inside of his cheek to keep his voice level. You've taken everything from me...everyone...  
  
You've taken those things from yourself, Folken. It was you who pushed away the things that you had, far too content to dwell on the past that to build yourself a future. I may have threatened, but I would not have risked my time on you if I hadn't been certain that you would aid me, as surely as you are standing here now.  
  
You expected all of this... Folken said it flatly, not astonished even though he knew he ought to be. You... you knew...  
  
Of course I knew. Like a messenger of doom, the old man freed himself from the metal prison that surrounded his body. Come, my boy, and prove your worth to the fate of Gaea! Do you think that you can stop me?  
  
Rising to what he recognized as the emperor's lure, he brandished the sword and took flight over Hitomi's shrieks of protest.   
  
Everything I've lost... It's all been because of you!  
  
Yes, my boy. The old man's tone gave him pause. Though it was carefully masked, there was a dark undertone of regret that caused Folken to flutter in the air a moment, afraid for the first time since his arrival. We hoped to shape destiny, you and I, but in all that time, we never realized that we still live under the laws of fate. Perhaps she means to take revenge on us for tampering with her at all... who can say? In a way, these thoughts had donned on Folken before, except that he'd never given them much thought. Altering the future seemed brilliant and valiant, but it was always a lofty idea that he somehow knew was nothing more than a dream for him.  
  
There was a small glimmer from the old man's worn face, shining discreetly in the darkness of the vast chamber. As he watched, Folken realized Dornkirk was smiling.   
  
There was so much you never understood, my boy. So very much that I wanted to show you. He was suddenly very quiet now, unaccountably personal and much more forgiving, no longer the harsh authoritarian Folken had grown to loathe.  
  
I think she loved you. He didn't need to say who she' was. At the mention of her, Folken felt himself change inside, the anger cooling but not vanishing altogether. She finally escaped the hold of Zaibach, and I think she would be glad to know you defied in the end as well. But you won't escape. It is your destiny to fade here now, Folken Fanel. You will die, as ever you were meant to.  
  
It made more sense now, or as much as anything else, at any rate. The look in her eyes, the sound of her voice. Delleva had asked him those question about his own remorse because she herself - was sorry. He was fading and for once in her life, she must have realized what she had done. If the lives his inventions took were on his conscience, they were equally on hers because she was as responsible as Dornkirk for his rebirth. Her visit had been her own way of apologizing. For everything. As he stood before the threshold of this final voyage, he knew in his heart that he had forgiven her long ago.   
  
She had vanished from the empire after that visit. Taking her personal guymelef, she had gone into the lands to the north, leaving all of the conflicts of the nations far behind her. Whatever she was looking for, he hoped she might find it someday, even though his soul told him that she wouldn't. They were both broken, without hope of being truly fixed. And yet, when all was said and done, it was she that had given him the strength to glance into the eyes of life again.   
  
Looking at the elderly man who seemed less a beacon of fear and now something far more patriarchal, lost in his elderliness, he smiled sincerely.  
  
That is escape, in its own right. My soul will go to those your dream' has robbed from me. So that was how it had been. He should have known that it was her influence that broke him free, but in many ways Dornkirk was still wrong. Delleva might have been fond of him, but she hadn't loved him. But then, that was alright. There were others, though perhaps not in the passionate sense, who had given him just what he needed of love. He was ready now to depart.  
  
It was ever our fate to embark this way, Folken Fanel. We each have our journeys to travel, and they no longer coincide. It seems that some things will exist above our ability to change them. It should have shaken him more than it did to sense the resignation in the voice of the Emperor, just as it had to hear regret in Delleva's voice that night. You were more than the world expected you to be, my boy, and I hope you are not insulted to know that I am proud of you in the way any father might hope to be proud of a son. Do now as you intended, and leave this world of pain behind you. Deliver this place unto its future!  
  
Mother, Father, forgive me. Naria and Eriya, wait for me if you can. I'm sorry I was not able to be more for you.' He looked down one last time over the room that held so many conflicted memories, and down at the girl with whom his brother was in love. She scrambled for the stairway, screaming silently as she threw herself through the machine-littered maze below them. It was too late - what had to be done would be done, just as he'd told her. It was now that he was beginning to grasp the magnitude of those words himself, but it didn't matter any longer. It was over.  
  
And then the sword swung. What happened after that was unclear, the burning in his chest no stronger than the stabbing of his thoughts which needed no whet-stone to stay sharper than time. The world grew more gray with each passing breath, a bit more ragged around the edges. Destiny would come to all, but it would not be of the type that Dornkirk expected. The world was not peace -The world was pain. The world was sorrow and loss and sacrifice and death. The world was faith.   
  
For so long Folken put himself into the others around him, believing that the world would find him selfless for doing so; in fact, the opposite was true. He clung to the others in his life in a vain attempt to hold on to any kind of normalcy that once might have existed. It was not selfish for him to think of no one but himself in these final moments, because all self-pity that so fouled him was finally, totally gone. Folken felt the ties that held him finally give way, and at last he was free.  
  
  
  
- - El fin  
  
  
  
  
  
Ollen70: It's been such a weird week. I got back from Seattle yesterday, after watching the U of O football team get slaughtered, which is my excuse as to why it took me so long to get this chapter finished.   
  
Don't ask me why I went - I don't even like football - but getting hit by beer cans and threatened by drunken frat guys doesn't make the experience any more pleasant. At first, I really didn't like this chapter - I didn't think it got across what I was trying to portray with this story, and while there are still some problems here that I may go back and fix (awkwardness with some of the dialogue, for one) I've decided that I sort of like it.   
  
Anyway, I think I'm gonna do another (much shorter) story from Dornkirk's point of view soon, and like I said, please leave comments regarding this chapter. Thank you again for all your encouragement.   
  



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